Blue Amber
by AmandaM830
Summary: Sequel to Bound. Dean is broken after losing everyone he ever cared about. He's developed feelings for the Slayer who's bound to him as a slave, but fears he may be too damaged to be the man she deserves. Buffy/Dean
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Spoilers through the end of SPN s6, goes AU after that. Chapter 1/?.

**Warnings****: Dubcon, spanking, smut, explicit language. **

Disclaimer: Own nothing and I'm making nothing.

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><p>Buffy lay face down and naked across Dean's lap while he spanked her firm, round ass. She squirmed and made delicious little moaning noises every time his hand struck, and he had to keep convincing himself that he couldn't give-in to his baser instincts and have his way with her. Not yet, anyway. Not under these circumstances. The thing was, he'd spanked her on one other occasion and it had turned her on then too. Apparently that wasn't just a onetime thing. It seemed his girl had a spanking fetish. Kinky was a good thing, he was down with that. Problem was, it confirmed his suspicion that he was being played this time around.<p>

For the past few days she'd gone out of her way to defy him in every way possible. He hadn't been sure what she was trying to do at first, so he'd pretty much laughed her off and ignored her until she disobeyed him on a hunt. That's when he decided to put a stop to it. He had no patience for that crap on the job. It was too dangerous.

"You like this, don't you Buffy?" he asked her between blows.

"N-No," she denied. The word came out broken and in a grunt, since he'd just brought his hand down on her again.

He paused and reached between her thighs where he found the folds of her soaked pussy. She involuntarily bucked beneath him and sucked in her breath at his touch. With a smirk he smacked her ass hard again.

"You're awfully wet," he remarked smugly. "I'm pretty sure that means you like being spanked. I think you're a naughty girl, Buffy," he prodded mercilessly.

"I don't like it," she protested, sounding extremely petulant and insulted. "You're a jerk!"

"I am," he agreed with another slap, "but you're horny as hell. That pretty little pussy is practically dripping… You know what I think?"

"I don't care what you think," she ground out.

He ignored her and continued on. "I think you've been trying to piss me off on purpose, because you want me to wear your little ass out. Am I right?"

"NO," she practically yelled.

He delivered one more hard slap to her bright red cheeks before pulling her into a sitting position on the bed beside him.

"What's that?" he asked as he pointed to the wet spot on his jeans and raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I'm wrong, but it looks like you creamed yourself all over me." The truth was, the fact that she was that horny was making him hard as a rock, but he couldn't afford to focus on that. Not until he'd made his point with her.

Buffy blushed a deep shade of red and averted her gaze. Dean felt guilty for humiliating her like this, but she'd disobeyed him in the field and he couldn't have that. Now that he knew she wanted to be spanked, he'd make sure she got her fair share. He'd gladly play along and pretend to be pissed at her snarky little remarks. In fact, he'd spank her every night if she wanted it, but she could never be allowed to get away with disobedience on a hunt.

He gripped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his. "This is no game, Buffy," he said sternly. "You never disobey my orders on a hunt. You need to understand that. You'll bite off more than you can chew, princess. I can promise you that."

"I hate you," she spat back at him. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but she looked defiant.

Dean tried to ignore the stabbing pain that her words caused him. He didn't want her to hate him. He sure as hell didn't hate her. In fact, he'd never felt these exact feelings for a woman in his life. It kind of freaked him out and he wasn't sure what to think about it, but he knew he wanted her to return his feelings. He had to remind himself that her obedience was the key to keeping her alive. If his brother had only listened to him there would have been no Apocalypse. If Cas had listened, every monster in Purgatory wouldn't currently be stomping around trying to eat everything that moved. Everyone he'd ever cared about and eighty-percent of the world's population would still be alive if someone had just listened to him for once. Well, he wasn't making that mistake again. Buffy was going to take him seriously and she was going to obey him, period. Most of the time, he tried to show her that being owned by him wasn't such a bad thing, but right now she had a lesson to learn. He could worry about her feelings towards him later.

"Maybe you do hate me," he said, swallowing hard and trying to keep emotion from his voice. "But you _will_ come for me and I _can_ make you beg for it," he promised her.

He was still cupping her chin in his hand and when she tried to pull away, he held her still and pressed his lips against her very pouty ones. He kissed her forcefully, claiming her mouth with his until she unclenched her jaw and began returning the kiss. She was furious, he could tell by the way her tongue dueled with his, but she was also extremely turned on. Dean pulled away from her and began to undress as he watched her. The mix of passion and rage on her pretty features was hot as hell. She was going to give him one hell of a good night.

When he was fully undressed, he stretched out on the bed and propped his head up on the pillows.

"Ride me," he ordered casually. "I wanna feel that hot little cunt sliding down on my cock. _Now_."

Buffy still looked mutinous, but she didn't hesitate to straddle his hips. He caught her by the waist and stopped her before she was able to follow his order though.

"Turn around," he said. He'd just decided he was going to teach her the reverse cowgirl _and_ he was going to wear her little ass out while he did it. If she wanted a spanking so bad, she was going to get one. This little girl was going to learn a valuable lesson tonight and she'd think twice before playing games with him again. He'd do anything for her, but he called the shots. The sooner she learned that the better.

She turned around and fumbled a moment before she figured out how to mount him from the new angle. He couldn't help but find her uncertainty endearing. Dean had never had much interest in inexperienced women, but in her case it turned him on. He liked knowing that he was the only one she'd done many of these things with. Usually he didn't care about that sort of thing, but he couldn't stomach the idea of Buffy being with another man. She was his.

He groaned in ecstasy when he finally felt her soft, warm pussy enveloping him. She was always so tight and wet. He'd never get enough of her. Dean gave her a few seconds to try and get her rhythm in the new position before hitting her already-red ass with a stinging slap. She whimpered at the blow and slammed down even harder on him. Soon, she was riding him hard and fast while he set her on fire with his hand.

From this angle, he had an excellent view of his cock ramming in an out of her pink slit and he loved how it dripped with her juices. He could also clearly see the wrinkled rosette of her asshole as she bent forward to gain leverage. One of these days he was going to pop that cherry, but he wanted her to be ready for it. However, she didn't need to know that he had no intentions of doing that tonight (not unless he thought she really wanted him to). It would be excellent discipline to mess with her though.

He stopped spanking her and reached between her legs and scooped up some of her moisture. Then he rubbed it around the crinkled skin of her previously untouched opening. She gasped in shock and stilled her movements.

"Maybe I shouldn't waste time spanking this little ass," he said huskily. "Doesn't seem to do any good. Maybe I should just fuck it instead?" he pondered. "I bet you've never had a dick in there, have you?"

"_Dean,"_ she pleaded, sounding a little panicky. "Please don't."

He continued caressing her and then pressed his thumb slowly inside of her incredibly tight little hole. She whimpered again and tried to pull away, but he held her still with the hand he had on her hip.

"Are you still a virgin?" he asked as he wriggled his thumb inside of her. "Has anybody ever been in here?" He knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.

"No," she answered. "I've never…"

"Good," he said as his lips twisted in a smile. "I want to be the first one… the only one."

"Please don't," she begged again. She was obviously afraid and he really did feel bad about that. It was clear she wasn't ready for anal yet and since he didn't want to hurt her, he wasn't going to make her. He wanted her to enjoy it when it happened. He liked giving her pleasure.

I'll do it if I want to," he warned her in a deadly serious tone. "You know that, don't you? _You're mine, Buffy._ Don't forget it and don't push me. I'll fuck your little ass right now if you don't apologize for trying to manipulate me."

"I'm sorry," she said quickly. _"I'm sorry."_

"So, you admit you tried to trick me into spanking you?" he pressed.

"Yes," she said in a barely audible voice.

"What's that?" he asked sternly.

"Yes," she said a bit louder. "I wanted you to spank me," she admitted shamefully.

"Tell me why," he demanded.

"It makes me wet," she said in a small voice.

Dean slid his thumb out of her ass at her admission and patted her lightly on one of her blazing cheeks. "That's my girl," he said, pulling her hips down so that his dick was buried more snugly within her. "I'm happy that you're wet for me, baby, but you need to know you're playing with fire. If you push me, you might get more than you bargained for. You get that now, don't you?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Yes _sir_," he corrected her.

"Yes sir," she repeated back to him breathlessly. Her inner muscles clenched around him when she said it and Dean had to force himself not to come right then.

"Finish fucking me," he ordered once he felt he had himself back under control.

Buffy did as she was told and started riding him again. He could tell she was close by the noises she was making and forced himself to hold off his own orgasm.

"Would you like to come, Buffy?" he asked her in a strained voice.

He could see her bobbing her head up and down as she frantically ground herself into him.

"Beg me," he ordered.

"Please let me come," she gasped. "Please Dean, I need to…"

He slammed upwards on her next downward thrust, bending her forward at an angle he knew would press against her clit. She immediately began shuddering around him and crying out loudly as her climax washed over her. She froze while she was in the grip of her pleasure, so he kept pumping his dick upwards into her as she came, knowing it would prolong her peak. The feel of her pussy as it spasmed around him was as incredible as always. She may not be able to use her Slayer strength on him, but he was pretty sure that rule didn't seem to apply to her cunt. No woman had ever milked him like she did and no matter how often he took her, she never got any looser. It was amazing.

When he realized he couldn't take it anymore, he pulled her off of him and shot his load all over her lower back and ass. He groaned and stretched as he laid back and enjoyed the relaxed and satisfied feeling he always had following sex with Buffy. As soon as he could find his strength, he planned on them taking a break to find something to eat for dinner. After that, he was going to bring her back to bed and make slow and gentle love to her for at least an hour. Hopefully then she'd think twice about hating him.

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><p>Buffy lay face down on the bed as she recovered from her orgasm. As the afterglow faded, she remembered how angry she was with Dean. She still couldn't believe he'd humiliated her the way he had. Yes, she'd tried to manipulate him, but it was only because she'd been too embarrassed to ask him to spank her and she never would've tried something like that if she didn't trust him. Apparently she was the stupidest girl alive, yet again.<p>

She felt the bed dip as he moved to stand. She could sense his eyes on her, but turned her head so she didn't have to look at him. He leaned over and kissed her on the temple, however.

"Too wiped-out to move?" he teased. "Thought you had Slayer stamina."

"Please leave me alone," she requested quietly.

Dean was silent for a moment and then he walked around the foot of the bed so he could see her face.

"You okay?" he asked hesitantly. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

Buffy didn't answer him. _To hell with him_, she thought. She wasn't interested in setting his mind at ease right now. Plus, she didn't understand him. Obviously, he didn't give a crap about her, so why did he even care?

"Buffy," he said more insistently. "Tell me if you're okay or not?"

Buffy had her fire back now. If Dean thought he was going to break a Slayer, he obviously didn't know what one was. "Or what?" she snapped. "You'll sodomize me? Is that my choice?"

The expression that crossed Dean's features wasn't what she'd expected. She'd expected a fight. She'd even half-expected him to make good on his threat, but instead he looked like someone had punched him in the stomach.

"I want to go home," she continued bitterly. "I don't want to be here anymore." She wasn't sure if she really meant what she was saying, but she instinctively knew that it was the last thing Dean wanted to hear her say.

For a brief moment, he looked completely devastated by her words, then his face became a hard mask.

"Sorry sweetheart," he said tightly. "Here is all there is. The rest is gone. If your home's even still standing, I guarantee that nobody's around anymore. This is the world now and it's a real bitch. Sorry about that."

"That's not what I meant," she said as she propped herself on her elbows and glared angrily into his eyes. "This isn't _my_ world. I shouldn't even be here."

Then she told him everything. She told him about Dawn and Glory and jumping off the tower and how that sacrifice had apparently sucked her into hell. Because, obviously, a world where almost everyone was dead and all Slayers were slaves had to be some sort of hell dimension. She was venomous and angry as she spoke, and a part of her reveled in how upset he seemed to be by all of it. She reasoned that it was because he'd made her care for him and then he'd turned around and treated her like a thing with no feelings or rights.

Dean stared at her in shocked horror for what felt like forever and then without saying a word or asking her any questions, he grabbed his jeans from the floor and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him as he went.

Buffy smiled bitterly after him. He deserved to feel a little of her pain.

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><p>AN: Reviews are very much appreciated. I'd really like to know if anyone is interested in this story, since I realize it won't be everyone's type of thing.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Credit to the website thesurvivalistblog, which gives tips on naturally defensible places to live throughout the US following a complete meltdown of society. That's where I came up with the info on where Buffy/Dean and their band of survivors are located. I sincerely doubt the paramilitary/survivalist dude that runs that site ever thought it would be used as a go-to research source for smutty, post-apocalyptic fanfiction. Ahhh the internets.

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**Chapter 2**

Dean was in heaven. Actually, screw heaven, this was way better. The one time he remembered being in heaven hadn't come anywhere close to this. Then again, being chased by that dickwad Zachariah probably had something to do with his poor impression of the place. No, heaven for Dean was having Buffy moaning underneath him as he slowly thrust in and out of her.

As much as he enjoyed it kinky and hard, there was something about taking things slow with her that made everything seem right – perfect almost. He could concentrate on the amazing feeling of just being inside of her and having his body pressed against hers. He could focus on all the little moans and sighs she made, and bury his face in the bend of her neck and breathe in the incredible scent of her hair. She always smelled awesome, probably because she hoarded the best chick products whenever they went into No Man's Land on a scavenging mission. She was really excited when she once found a bottle of shampoo that she swore went for $30 'back in the day'. It was the stupidest thing he'd ever heard of and he told her so, but he was secretly glad she was stashing away a lifetime supply of the good stuff.

With a satisfied groan, he pressed himself into her as deeply as he could go and held himself still while he nuzzled her neck and breathed in her scent. She gave him one of those whiny, protesting moans that he loved so much and wiggled her hips beneath him, but he held her still with his greater weight. His lady wanted some friction and he'd give her some, but he was too busy enjoying her at the moment. So, just to tease her, he wiggled his own hips from side to side, pressing his cock against her tightly stretched walls. She responded by whimpering in frustration and sinking her nails into his back.

"What's wrong, baby?" he teased as he chuckled against her throat. "Not having fun?"

"You don't play fair," she pouted.

"Nope," he agreed with a smile. He leaned up on his elbows and gave her a wink. "You're too cute and I'm always way too horny. That's one hell of a dangerous combination. Can't seem to help myself. "

Anything else Dean had to say was forgotten when he was overcome by the intense sensation of her working her inner muscles around him. He'd never felt anything quite like it. She was going to make him come inside of her if she didn't stop. He was on the verge of making a frantic exit when her giggling made him pause.

"What the hell woman?" he groaned. Buffy had dissolved into an uncontrollable fit of giggles by this point and he wasn't sure what was so funny, especially since things would be way less hilarious once he accidentally shot his wad off inside of her.

"You should see yourself," she gasped out through her giggles. "Your eyes actually crossed. I think that means I win."

"_Damn._ You're one evil little thing," he grumbled back at her.

Buffy briefly squeezed his cock again and gave him a very impish grin when he bit his lower lip and groaned loudly.

"I love you though," she said with an exaggerated flutter of her eyelashes. "That should count for something."

Dean smiled broadly. _Yeah, that counted for everything._ He started to lower his mouth to hers, but a loud, piercing whistle broke the moment and he suddenly found himself half-sitting, half-lying on the couch. It had all been a dream and he had one hell of a crick in his neck from the position he'd been sleeping in, but worst of all, there was no Buffy. He was alone.

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Buffy could clearly see into the living room from where she was standing in the kitchen. She had to bite her lip to keep from laughing at the miserable expression on Dean's face when the tea kettle went off. For a while, she thought he was going to sleep all day, but he'd jerked awake almost the second the shrill whistling began. She hated that sound too, but she took her time removing the kettle from the eye in order to prolong his torture.

Dean was gripping the sides of his head, almost like he was afraid his brains would spill out. She was sure the empty bottle of liquor sitting on the end table had more to do with that than the tea kettle. Obviously, the idiot had spent the night drinking himself into oblivion. She reasoned that it had to have been done out of guilt and that fact made her feel a lot more confident. She wasn't going to spend the day moping over him and feeling sorry for herself. She may have cried herself to sleep last night, but that was then, this was now.

She pretended not to notice him as she went about pouring the boiling water into the French Press she'd filled with a couple teaspoons of coffee grounds. Coffee was a valuable commodity in this world. Gone were the days of brewing a whole pot and letting most of it go to waste. She wasn't quite sure what she'd do when there was no more coffee to be found. This world was almost identical to hers, aside from the post-apocalypse vibe. She was pretty sure that meant coffee still only grew in tropical climates, and she was living in a tiny town on what was known as the Cumberland Plateau on the former Kentucky-Tennessee border. It was definitely not of the tropical here. So, she doubted she'd have much luck growing her own supply.

Out of the corner of her eye, Buffy watched Dean as he pulled himself up from the couch and stood looking at her for a long moment, almost like he wasn't sure what to do with himself. She hated to admit that she was almost disappointed when he didn't say anything to her. Instead, he headed off toward the bathroom. Of course, that may have had something to do with the fact that he looked sort of nauseous, which totally served him right since he was the current reigning jackass of Apocalypseworld. Hopefully, he was going to take a shower. She had deliberately used all of the hot water when she'd taken hers and a cold shower would do him good. It was just what he needed to get rid of the huge erection currently making a tent out of his jeans. He was seriously hung-over and still managed to be horny. The man was unbelievable.

With a satisfied smirk, Buffy flopped down in the recliner to enjoy her coffee in peace. She was consciously ignoring the fact that she wouldn't have hot coffee or a warm shower if it weren't for the fact that Dean had been smart enough to rig up some solar panels he'd scavenged. He'd also been smart enough to pick a house outside of town that had a well, but then again, that probably wasn't so much smart as it was a fortunate coincidence. She suspected he'd actually picked this house because it was isolated and he was too cranky and anti-social to live among his fellow humans. Whatever his reasons, she was in no mood to give him any brownie points today.

She picked up a copy of _Entertainment Weekly_ that was lying on the coffee table and began idly flipping through it. The magazine was several years out-of-date and she'd already read it about fifty times, but a girl needed something to keep her mind off her troubles. Plus it was still kind of fascinating to look at, because of the subtle differences between her world and Dean's. Some of the celebrities were unfamiliar to her and some of them were named slightly differently or cast in different roles than they'd been in her world. For instance, inside the front cover was an ad for the movie _Terminator Salvation _starring Adrien Brody. She'd seen that movie in her world and Adrien Brody definitely was not the star. It was that Batman guy, Christian Bale.

_After Skynet has destroyed much of humanity in a nuclear holocaust, a group of survivors led by John Carson struggles to keep the machines from finishing..._

John 'Carson'? Pfft, that wasn't right either. 'Johnny' Carson had been some old talk show host and the guy from the Terminator movies had the last name of 'Conner'. She was sure of that, because Xander used to obsessively quote those movies in a really bad Schwarzenegger accent. She smiled at the memory. She missed her friends, she really did, but even though she'd only been in this world for four months, Sunnydale seemed like a lifetime ago. Technically, she guessed it was. After all, she was dead in that world. She'd done her duty there. This world needed her now and she kind of liked the challenge. Here she didn't have to hide who she was and try to pretend she was just some normal girl. Life actually made more sense in a lot of ways. Despite the lack of entertainment and the dwindling coffee supply, she thought she might just be able to find real happiness here… If she could figure out a way to deal with her 'master'.

She stared at the half-human/half-machine face on the movie ad and a flash of inspiration struck her. She remembered an awkward conversation she'd had with Spike on the night she 'died'. It was right after Will had resurrected the Buffybot to use as a decoy in the final battle against Glory. Spike had seemed embarrassed by the robot's reappearance and had told Buffy that no matter how much the machine looked like her, it would never be her. It may have been programmed to meet his every desire (_eww_), but it still wasn't her. It didn't have her wit, or her fire, or any of the things he loved about her. Buffy had cut him off, because she did _not_ want to hear anything about the things that machine had been programmed to do and because she didn't want to have to listen to more declarations of love from the ambiguously-evil undead. But maybe Spike had a point. It did seem like Dean wanted Buffy-Buffy the vast majority of the time, but when they went on a hunt he suddenly expected her to become this obedient, unquestioning, robotic version of herself. Well, too bad. She wasn't the Buffybot and he couldn't have both. So, she was going to make him pick one.

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Dean felt a whole lot better after he'd taken a shower, even though the water had been cold enough to freeze his nuts off toward the end. That had obviously been Buffy's way of getting back at him for last night. _Buffy._ What the hell was he going to do about Buffy?

He'd spent the better part of last night hating himself and trying to get as drunk as possible. He was wracked by guilt and confused as hell by the world. That was pretty typical for him actually, but Buffy's confession and declaration of hatred had made things worse. Surely she didn't really hate him. In the two months since they'd started sharing a bed, he sure as hell had never caught that vibe from her. She was just pissed. That was all, and he couldn't let her guilt him into groveling at her feet. It sucked that she'd been thrown into this world, especially after the sacrifice she'd made. There was no doubt about that. But the truth was, he couldn't send her back even if he wanted to.

Opening dimensions was some heavy-duty shit and it was way above his pay grade. Cas could have done it, but he wasn't around anymore. Besides, they were living in Monsterland precisely because Cas had opened a door between dimensions. It was just too dangerous to even consider. Buffy was stuck here, she'd just have to accept it… and he wasn't apologizing for what had happened the night before. Yeah, he'd been a dick. He was a dick. She'd get no argument from him on that, but he was responsible for her and he'd sworn that nothing would happen to her on his watch. She had to follow his lead out there. She may be a Slayer, but he was more than ten years older than her and he'd been doing this since he was a child. The fact that she came from another dimension actually made her obedience even more important. Who knew what differences there were between monsters here and monsters in her world? What she didn't know or thought she knew could get her killed in an instant, and he wasn't about to just stand by and watch it happen. He'd buried enough people. He wasn't burying her too.

So, nothing had changed. Not really. Yeah, she was pissed, but she'd get over it. He'd throw the charm on her and she'd realize that he wasn't as horrible as she'd made him out to be. Things would be back to normal in a day or two tops.

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Once he was dressed, Dean went to find Buffy. He was determined to act like nothing was wrong between them.

She was standing in the kitchen, where she'd just cut herself a large slice of some homemade bread that one the townspeople had baked and was preparing to drench it in honey. She seemed not to notice him, but he knew that was an act. He stepped up behind her, slipped an arm around her waist, and pressed himself against her back. He was going to use one of his cheesy lines on her. They never failed to make her giggle and then good times inevitably followed.

"I'm starved," he said in a low voice as he bent his head toward her ear. "That honey looks damn sweet… but I know at least one thing that tastes even sweeter."

Buffy stiffened in his embrace, but that wasn't unexpected. He'd just have to work a little harder to soften her up. He sucked her earlobe into his mouth and began nibbling on it. She gasped and then suddenly turned in his arms.

"Dean!" she exclaimed. "I am _so_ sorry. I should have known you'd be hungry. Here," she said as she held out the honey-soaked slice of bread. "Please, eat this. You're way too manly and sexy to ever go hungry. I can make-do with some gruel."

He stared at her with a raised brow, trying to figure out her game. She had a huge smile on her face and was speaking in a strange, very deliberate tone that he'd never heard her use before.

"Don't be ridiculous, Buffy," he replied with a smirk.

An exaggerated look of horror crossed her features and she quickly placed the bread down on the countertop. "What's wrong, Dean?" she asked with a pout. "I'm only trying to please you. Please tell me what would make you happy." She gave him another one of those huge, fake smiles and then reached out and hooked her hands in the waistband of his jeans. "I could give you the oral sex," she offered with a blinding smile. "Would that make you happy, sir?"

_Fine_, Dean thought. She was going to play the part of a bad actress in a porno flick. She probably thought that would snag her the apology she was looking for, but she wasn't going to get it. Not in words anyway. They'd just see who blinked first.

He grabbed her hands and pried them loose from his waistband, then pulled her into his arms. He gently stroked her back and pressed a kiss against her forehead. Buffy tilted her head back so she could look up at him. Her smile was so wide that he was surprised her face didn't crack open.

"Are we going to have sexy, fun times now? Are you going to stick your extremely large penis in me?" she asked as she bounced in excitement. "Please, sir. That would make me very happy," she gushed. "I live for your penis."

Okay, this was getting really annoying, but he'd be damned if he'd let her kill the mood with this stupid crap. He'd just ignore her and she'd eventually give it up. She'd thrown down the gauntlet now. He lowered his mouth to hers and started kissing her slowly and sensuously. She didn't resist him. Instead she kissed him back with way too much enthusiasm and way too little skill. It was like she was trying to choke him with her tongue. This was getting friggin ridiculous. He'd just have to kick things up a notch.

He pulled out of the kiss and lifted her off the floor by her waist. She just stared at him with that goofy-ass smile and dangled in the air in front of him like an idiot.

"Wrap your legs around my waist," he finally said with a sigh. He was trying very hard to keep the irritation from his voice.

"Oh," she said in surprise as she quickly complied. "I'm sorry, Dean. I'm not very smart. I am a fast learner, though. Would you like to kiss me some more?"

Dean gritted his teeth and proceeded to kiss and nibble her right on the spot where her neck met her shoulder. She always loved that. He'd just see how long she could keep this charade up now.

Finally, she seemed to be thawing out. _Or hell_, maybe it was just wishful thinking. The quality of her moans was still more porn star than actual Buffy, but he told himself this was better than her acting all pissy. At least this way she was willing, and he had more opportunity to show her how good he could make her feel. Besides, all he knew was that he was as hard as a rock and ready to move this party to the bedroom. He was headed that way when he was interrupted by a knock at the door.

"What the hell?" he growled in frustration.

"That's Noah," Buffy replied brightly. "He was supposed to go scavenging with us today. Would you like to me to tell him to go away until you're finished ravishing me?"

Dean groaned under his breath and set simpleminded, smiley-Buffy back on the floor. _Fuck_. He'd forgotten all about that kid coming by today. He was half tempted to tell him to beat it, but since it was a really nice day in early fall, he couldn't afford to waste it. Once winter hit, he had a feeling that trips into No Man's Land would be few and far between. They had to stock up on as much food, heating oil, and medicine as they could get their hands on before bad weather hit, or else the nearly two-hundred people in the town would be screwed. So, Dean rearranged his jeans to make the pressure less painful and headed toward the door. His day had just gotten a hell of a lot shittier.

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A/N: Not as much porn in this chapter, but wanted to give some more background on this world. Don't worry. More smut is on the way… along with more power struggles and more angst. Good times.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy couldn't help smiling as she checked out her reflection in a full-length mirror. She, Dean, and a teenaged boy from their town were technically in the middle of an 'off base' scavenging mission, but she was taking an unscheduled break.

They had decided to check out a multi-million-dollar house that was fairly isolated and didn't appear to have been looted yet. The main goal was canned food, medicine, or anything else that had a practical use. The little black dress she was wearing did not fit that bill and neither did the high heeled Manolo Blahnik shoes, but she couldn't resist. How often did a girl get the opportunity to try-on a designer dress that had once cost thousands of dollars? She never had, that much was certain.

She twisted her ponytail on top of her head and struck a silly modeling pose. It was all big fun up until the point that she nearly busted her butt after losing her balance on the too-high-heels. All thanks to Dean clearing his throat from the doorway of the spacious bedroom she was in. _Dammit, how did he get so stealthy?_ She braced herself for the inevitable laughter and/or smartass comment, but he appeared strangely subdued.

"We should head-out if we plan to make it back before dark," he said, without even bothering to remark on her attire.

Buffy frowned at him and shrugged as she went to gather up her clothes. He stared at her for a moment with an unreadable expression on his face before turning to leave. She would never understand this man. He'd spent most of the morning trying to seduce her and now he was passing up a golden opportunity to get some easy brownie points by telling her how pretty she looked, but instead, he looked like someone had kicked his dog. Wow, he could be a real idiot sometimes.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy stretched out across the backseat of the large truck she was riding in and closed her eyes. She hadn't slept very well the night before and thought she might take a nap while Dean was occupied by his conversation with Noah. Actually, it was a pretty one-sided conversation, because Dean wasn't doing much more than grunting or absently uttering a syllable or two every few minutes. Noah seemed oblivious. The boy loved to talk and seemed happy just to run his mouth about nothing while Dean sort of listened. Buffy almost felt sorry for Dean. 'Almost' being the operative word.

She knew that Dean was actually fond of the fourteen-year-old. He probably interacted with him more than anyone else in the town. Of course, the fact that the kid had no problem talking to himself didn't hurt. The boy and his mother were the only surviving original residents of the town and had been barely making it until Dean showed up with a band of random tagalongs. Ever since then, Noah had practically worshipped Dean. The boy had been begging to come along with them for months and had finally worn Dean down. Buffy was glad, because he deserved to be annoyed.

"What do you think, Miss Buffy?" Noah asked, seemingly out of the blue. She would probably never get used to this form of address, but it was supposedly fairly common for children in this part of the country to address adult women in this way.

"Huh?" she replied (she hadn't been listening).

"I's askin' if you thought the President and Congress was really livin' in a secret bunker under D.C. That's what Mr. Dixon says, but I –"

"Chill," Dean said as he slowed the truck to a crawl and squinted his eyes as he peered through the windshield. "Is that smoke?"

Buffy sat up and stuck her head between the driver's and passenger's seats. Dean was right. It was hard to see due to the angle of the sun, but smoke was definitely coming out of the chimney on a house up the road.

"Guess we've found more survivors," Buffy replied with a yawn. "Hope it's not more smelly Mad Max rejects, cuz I'm so over those guys."

Noah shot her a worried look. Buffy had forgotten that he'd run into some of those types while he and his mother were on their own. Luckily, the kid was an excellent shot or else he probably wouldn't be here. Sadly, a lot of the survivors just plain sucked. The complete breakdown of society did not bring out the best in most people.

"It's okay," she replied encouragingly. "We'll check 'em out. If they don't pass the Buffy anti-thug test, they're not coming with us."

"Don't worry about it, kid," Dean added. "You stay in the truck and if we're not out in five, get the hell out of here."

Shockingly, Dean's statement only seemed to make the boy look even more worried.

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You should have been a doctor, Dean. Your bedside manner is practically perfect."

"Shut up," he grumbled back at her. Buffy smiled and sat back in her seat. Obviously he couldn't think of a better comeback.

XXXXXXXXXX

Noah ended up tagging along, even though Dean was reluctant. In reality, the boy was good with a gun and they didn't know what they were heading into. They weren't really in a position to turn down backup, even if the backup was just a kid. Buffy just hoped nothing bad happened to him, because she knew Dean would never forgive himself if it did. Even if he was a jackass, he carried too much weight on his shoulders.

She snuck around to the back entrance of the house while Dean and Noah took the front. Hopefully, these were unnecessary precautions, but they couldn't afford to take a chance. She pulled out the handgun she was carrying and closely watched the second hand of her wristwatch. They were planning on breaking down both doors simultaneously, so they had synchronized their watches. She felt like she was living in a cheesy action movie sometimes.

When the second hand hit twelve, Buffy kicked down the back door. Nobody was there to meet her, but if she went by Dean's angry _"Fuck Me"_ and the sound of a baby crying_,_ she could guess that something wasn't right. Cautiously, she crept through the empty kitchen and dining area with her gun drawn (she still couldn't believe she was carrying a gun). What she saw when she reached the living room wasn't quite what she expected.

There was a fire in the fireplace, but the room held an odd odor that told her logs weren't the only thing being burned. It smelled like some type of herb and it was vaguely familiar. She was pretty sure Willow had once used something similar to work a spell.

There were two strange men in the room. The one holding the crying baby was fairly unremarkable. He was thin, dirty, and unshaven - basically, just your typical refugee type. The other guy, however, definitely stood out, because he was spotless and wearing a suit. Apparently Buffy wasn't the only one into trying-on overpriced formalwear today. The well-dressed man turned his head and smiled at her. It was definitely the smile of the uber-evil, no doubt about that. Her spidey senses weren't tingling, they were screaming.

"Well hello, kitten," he greeted in a British accent. "Do join us."

"Buffy, don't go near him," Dean ordered urgently. "Just stay the hell away from that bastard."

"Buffy?" the man repeated with a smirk as he turned his attention to Dean. "Cute. It suits her."

Buffy felt her skin crawling when he turned back around and looked her up and down. "So love," he continued, addressing her once again. "I have two theories. You tell me which is right." He pointed to Noah and rolled his eyes. "The first is that Dean here has finally gone completely off his nut and thinks that lanky, young lad is little Sammy. Which would make you, my dear, the new Bobby Singer." His smile broadened when Buffy gave him a blank look (she didn't know what the hell he was talking about). "Didn't think so," he added. "But, it was a very entertaining theory. I have to say that old Bobby never looked so good."

"Shut your fucking mouth, Crowley!" Dean snapped. "Leave her the hell alone. You got anything to say, you say it to me."

In an instant, the man's civilized façade evaporated and his eyes turned completely black. He held out one hand and Dean was flung backwards into the wall behind him. His head connected with a loud thud. He dropped his pistol and slid to the floor, clearly dazed. Noah screamed in horror, but Buffy forced herself to remain stone faced. She wasn't about to show any weakness in front of this thing, whatever it was.

"I'd forgotten what a rude little bugger you were," Crowley sneered at Dean. "Now do shut your foul mouth and let me have a chat with the lady."

"What do you want to talk about?" Buffy asked, forcing herself to sound cheerful. She needed to draw this creature's attention away from Dean before it decided to do more damage. "You seem like a clothes man. I'm all about clothes. Did you wanna talk fashion?"

The thing's eyes turned back to a normal brown color and he pasted on his patronizing smile once again. "Second theory stands then. You're a Slayer… Either that or you're the bravest bit of fluff I've ever seen."

"Wrong again," Buffy said as she returned his smile. "I'm not _a_ Slayer, I'm _the_ Slayer. And since I'll be kicking your ass here in about five seconds, you may as well tell me what you're trying to do here. Just please say you don't eat babies, cuz besides being really, really wrong… that's just majorly gross."

"Buffy!" Dean warned her sharply as he pushed himself back to his feet. She ignored him though, he was in no condition to be giving orders right now.

The creature known as 'Crowley' laughed. He actually sounded genuinely amused by the situation. "No pet, you can untwist your lacy little knickers. I won't be dining on any infants today… at least not that one," he added with a waggle of his brows. "Believe it or not, I just ensured that he won't die a very slow and very painful death. In fact, that adorable little tot will live to be a very old man."

Buffy looked over at the man holding the infant. He was cradling it and trying to soothe it with what seemed like genuine affection. She was officially confused.

"You made a deal," Dean stated flatly as he also sized-up the scruffy looking man. "Your baby was dying, so you decided to make a deal. You poor, stupid son of a bitch… How long did you get?"

"Fifteen years," the man replied as he looked back at Dean defiantly. "I got fifteen years. He'll be almost a full-grown man when my bill comes due. I think that's a damn good trade."

Buffy could practically feel the emotion pouring off of Dean, even from across the room. This situation had a hit a nerve with him - a big one.

"I thought you were supposed to do this crap at a crossroads, Crowley" Dean ground out. "And why the hell are you even working deals anyway? Ain't this way below your pay grade? _Or maybe you got demoted?" _

"Hate to disappoint you, Princess, but I'm still the undisputed King of Hell. I just get a bit bored from time to time. It's nice to have a simple distraction. Call it nostalgia," he said with a wink. "Besides, you know perfectly well that a deal can happen anywhere, provided you know how to place the call." He deliberately looked around the room, pausing on a pile of herbs and some other items that appeared to be spell ingredients. "Mr. Carver here is in your line of work, therefore he knows the tricks of the trade. Perhaps you're just jealous that he negotiated a very generous fifteen years when you were barely able to get the one. That must sting."

Buffy's eyes widened. What was he talking about when he said Dean had one year? She tried to catch his eye, but he was focused on Crowley.

"Undo it," he demanded. "Give the man his soul back."

"No!" the man exclaimed, sounding panicked. He clutched the child against his chest and practically growled at Dean as he spoke. "I knew what I was doing. Just mind your own goddamned business. Nobody asked you to interfere in this."

"Relax, Mr. Carver," Crowley said smoothly. "Our deal stands. You'll have to forgive Dean. He was never the smartest Winchester. He seems to think he's in charge here."

Buffy could have sworn that 'Mr. Carver' looked momentarily surprised when Crowley used Dean's last name. She wondered what was up with that. It seemed like all sorts of new mysteries about Dean were being revealed today… _or_ _not_. Actually, now she was even more confused about his past than ever. All she'd learned was that he'd apparently once known some guys named 'Sammy' and 'Bobby', he may or may not have sold his soul once, and the name 'Winchester' was possibly more famous than she would have guessed. And good luck trying to get him to elaborate on any of it. The man seemed allergic to talking about anything that had happened before the world ended. She doubted this situation would be any different, especially since Dean looked truly upset right now.

"Buffy," he said tightly, when he finally returned her gaze. "You and Noah take Mr. Carver and his baby outside and get 'em settled in the truck. I'll be out in a minute. I just need to talk to dickhead first."

Buffy placed her hands on her hips and stared back without blinking. Did he really think she was going to leave him alone with whatever this thing was? Especially after it had thrown him across a room like he was a ragdoll. This might be the start of another big argument, but she wasn't exactly worried. There was something Dean didn't know, something she'd just realized herself. Dean had shown his hand the night before. He wasn't going to hurt her. Sure, he wasn't above yelling and threatening and bullying her, but he wouldn't actually harm her when it came down to it. She was sure of it.

Dean sighed and ran a hand down his face. "Buffy, _please_," he said through gritted teeth. "Humor me, okay? Believe me, you don't want to be in the same room as this bastard if you don't have to be."

Buffy was surprised by the 'request', but she still wasn't sure she should leave him alone with evil, fancy suit guy.

"Don't worry kitten," Crowley said to her. "I don't plan on killing him. It's not that I wouldn't enjoy bashing his skull in, mind you. It's just that I'm afraid he'd end up in hell and I don't fancy spending eternity with the most tiresome member of the Winchester clan under my roof. I may be evil, but I do have standards."

Buffy looked over at Noah and noted that the boy looked like he was about to pass out from terror. The room was also filled with smoke, due to the fresh herbs that were placed on the fire. She reasoned that it couldn't be good for a baby to breathe that stuff in.

"Fine," she said, giving Crowley her best glare. "But I'll be right outside."

"I'm trembling," he assured her with a wink.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean waited until he was sure Buffy and the others were outside before speaking.

"Give the man his soul back, Crowley," he demanded once again.

Crowley raised a brow. "Or what? You'll kill me with your surly little pout? I'm surprised at you, Dean. You know if I break the deal, that precious little baby will be dead within days. You really are getting coldhearted."

"_Bite me._ We both know that living to a ripe old age in this world is a curse."

The demon smiled. "Are you're actually trying to appeal to my conscience? You do realize I don't have one. Besides, I'm much more interested in chatting about your sins. I always pegged you as a self-righteous sort of prat. So, I must admit that it's a bit of a shock to find you're a slave owner these days. The world has indeed changed."

"There's more to…" Dean trailed off. He wasn't going to justify himself to Crowley.

"What's that, Dean?" he asked with a smirk. "Are you trying to tell me you're not enjoying the fringe benefits of such an arrangement? I know I would," he remarked with a knowing leer. "She's a very pretty girl and I hear there's nothing quite like fucking a Slayer. Must be fun having a hot little tramp like her under your complete control… I can think of all sorts of kinky -"

"Just shut the fuck up!" Dean yelled, cutting him off. "Don't talk about her like that." He clenched his jaw tightly and forced himself to swallow the rest of what he was about to say. What the hell was wrong with him? He was letting a demon get under his skin. He knew better than that.

"You poor, pathetic bastard," Crowley remarked with a chuckle. "You're in love with her. How touching," he said as he placed a hand over his heart. "Wonder how she feels? Yes, I do wonder if the lady had a choice… would she still be shacked-up with the likes of you?"

"Don't matter, cause she has no choice. The binding spell only breaks when I'm dead, so she's stuck with my sorry ass 'til the day something finally rips me open." Dean smirked back at the demon. He wasn't going to let him know he was getting to him.

Crowley rubbed his chin and appeared to be deep in thought. "Oh, I don't know," he said. "Seems I've heard about a work around… a spell of sorts. I believe it requires a very rare form of amber, blue amber to be exact. It's only found in the Dominican Republican, but you're a very resourceful young man. I'm sure you can work something out."

Dean snorted. "Like I believe anything you say."

"I have been known to lie on occasion," Crowley admitted, "but I often find the truth to be much more disturbing. Believe what you want," he said with an indifferent shrug. "Honestly, I'm just trying to make you miserable, because… well, I don't much like you. However, that doesn't mean I'm not telling the truth."

XXXXXXXXXX

The ride back to town was strained to say the least. The sun was down, which made being outside the gates much more dangerous, but Buffy was fairly certain that wasn't what was putting Dean on edge. What had happened in that house was clearly what was bothering him. That and whatever had been said between him and the demon when they had spoken privately.

Buffy had gotten the gist of what had gone down with the man and his baby. The man, who she now knew as Joe Carver, had filled her in. He was a hunter, much like Dean. He had summoned a demon and sold his soul to save his son, who was dying of what was probably a combination of pneumonia and malnutrition. The baby's mother had been killed the month before when the small group of survivors they were living with had been overrun by vampires. Of course, these weren't the vampires Buffy was so familiar with. They were this world's freaky version of vampires - the kind that had no fear of splinters or daylight. Personally, she preferred the other kind. This type wasn't quite as strong, but they were annoying because they could only be killed by decapitation and they left a rotting corpse behind.

Only Joe and his son, Jacob, had managed to make it out alive. They'd been on the road ever since, trying to find food and a community willing to take them in. Sadly, it sounded like that was the exception rather than the rule. Buffy was shocked at the lack of humanity in the world and felt incredibly sorry for Joe, because he didn't seem like a bad person. She didn't necessarily agree with the decision he'd made, but she sympathized and she thought Dean was judging him way too harshly, but Dean obviously had some personal issues with this particular situation.

After dropping Noah off with his mother, Dean headed back to their place. He told Joe that he and the baby could stay with them for the night and that he'd find them a more permanent home in the morning. Aside from that, Dean had nothing to say to either the man or to Buffy. He was in deep brooding mode. Buffy predicted that he'd be drinking his dinner tonight and she was right about that. Almost as soon as they walked in the door, Dean grabbed a bottle and went outside to sit on the screened-in porch, leaving Buffy to get Joe and the baby settled.

She warmed a few cans of soup on a camp stove and shared them with Joe by lamplight. Unfortunately, using solar power meant they had to do everything by lamp or candlelight once the sun went down. Part of the reason for today's trip had been to retrieve some solar batteries so that they would have power after dark. Buffy couldn't wait until Dean got those things wired up. She was getting used to living a simple life, but electricity was a good thing to have. She remembered that Dean hadn't even bothered setting up the solar panels until after she had moved in. Before then, he had lived in the dark. She allowed herself to briefly wonder if she had anything to do with his desire to make the place more comfortable.

The meal would have been horribly awkward had it not been for the fact that Joe seemed to be too starved to care about the fact that his host was getting drunk on the porch. He hardly said a word as he shoveled down the soup. Luckily, they had also picked up some powdered baby formula when they'd been out scavenging. There were no babies in town, but one girl was pregnant. Besides, the formula was a source of calories and fairly non-perishable. It seemed stupid to just leave it behind and it was a good thing they hadn't.

After they ate, Buffy showed Joe to what used to be her bedroom. There wasn't exactly a lot to do after dark, so going to bed seemed the best option. Plus, Joe looked exhausted. She started to leave him alone, but couldn't resist asking him a question.

"I couldn't help noticing you seemed to recognize Dean's name," she said, attempting to sound casual and conversational. "What was up with that?"

Even in the shadows of the room, Buffy could see reluctance on Joe's face. She wasn't sure what to make of it. Maybe he just didn't want to run his mouth now that he had a safe place to stay the night.

"They're kinda famous hunters is all," he said with a shrug. "Him and his brother… I think his name was Sam. I just heard they were mixed-up in some real high stakes shit a few years back. Anyway, I'd never actually seen one of 'em…" he trailed off, like he didn't have anything else to say.

Buffy was disappointed in the lack of info, but she could tell Joe was reluctant to say much and he had to be tired, so she said goodnight to him and Jacob and started to make her way to her own bed or Dean's bed… or whatever the hell it was. She didn't know what to think anymore and she decided that she wasn't going to put up with Dean drinking himself into a stupor for the second night in a row. She was going to go and talk to Mr. Broodypants, whether he liked it or not. The days of tiptoeing around his moods were over. Binding spell or not, she was the Slayer for God's sake, it was time she remembered that.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy immediately regretted not grabbing a sweater when she stepped out onto the back porch. The day had been warm, but now that the sun had gone down, the bite of fall was back in the air.

"Hey," she said as she stood and hugged her bare arms.

Dean looked up from where he was sitting on a wooden patio chair and gazed at her in surprise.

"Hey," he repeated back to her. He didn't seem to know what to say.

"I got Joe and his baby settled in for the night," she remarked. "They both seemed really tired and hungry. You know," she paused for a moment before continuing. "I don't think he's a bad guy."

Dean frowned and took another pull from his bottle. "I'm sure he's not," he replied with a sigh.

Buffy perched on the edge of one of the other patio chairs. To heck with it, she decided. She was just going to come out and ask.

"So, that demon said you only got one year. Does that mean-?"

"That you'll be getting rid of my ass in a year?" he asked with a laugh. "No, sorry sweetheart. I already did my time in the Pit. You're stuck with me."

Buffy was both horrified and relieved. "How did you get out?" she asked cautiously.

Dean looked at her with an odd expression for a moment. She was sure it was because he wasn't used to her asking him questions about his past. "Long and freaky story," he finally replied.

"So, you think Joe has a chance? Maybe he can get out to?"

"Doubt it. I say dude's pretty much screwed. Poor bastard," he added before taking another drink.

Buffy reached out and grabbed the bottle from Dean's hand once he lowered it. He raised an eyebrow at her, obviously not sure what she was doing. Buffy sniffed at the bottle and tried not to make too much of a face before turning it up and taking her own drink. She regretted it instantly. Yuck! She had to force herself not to gag on it.

"Ugh," she groaned as she tried to make out the label on the bottle in the moonlight. "What is this stuff? It's horrible!"

Dean seemed to think that was hilarious. "Damn baby, that's _Johnnie Walker Quest._ It's even rarer and more expensive than _Blue Label _was. I snagged it in that rich-ass house today. This shit used to go for like $500 a bottle. I used to know this dude… man, that grouchy old bastard woulda killed to get ahold of this stuff."

"I still think it sucks," Buffy said with an unapologetic shrug. "Actually, knowing it was that expensive makes it way suckier. I mean, _gross_. Seriously?"

"Some people had too much money, I guess. Personally I think it's pretty damn good, but yeah, I could think of better ways to blow five-hundred bucks."

Dean's momentary burst of good humor was gone. Once again, he looked completely miserable. Mr. Broodypants was back. He reached out for the bottle that Buffy was still holding and took another drink.

"Who were Sam and Bobby?" she asked. She already knew who Sam was, thanks to Joe, but she wanted to hear it from Dean.

It took him a moment to reply and when he did it was in a monotone. "Sam was my brother. Bobby was a family friend. They're both dead now. Just like most everybody else."

He started to tip the bottle again, but Buffy grabbed it before he could and sat it on the small table in front of them, then she slipped between his open knees and perched on one of his thighs. He looked genuinely shocked by her actions and to tell the truth, she was kind of shocked herself. She wasn't really sure what she was doing, because she was supposed to be angry with him. She _was_ angry with him, but she realized that the idea of him sitting out here alone, obviously in pain and trying to drown his sorrows was something she just couldn't take. Maybe she was a fool.

She leaned in and kissed him. The taste of that horrible liquor was on his lips, but it was also mixed with the taste of Dean and that sadly made it all okay. She was in so much trouble. She was in love with this man and she had no idea what she meant to him. It was possible that she was nothing more than a possession – a woman that he desired, but nothing more.

He returned her kiss hungrily before practically crushing her against his chest. Buffy told herself that it was the alcohol, even though she so badly wanted to believe otherwise. He held her for a long moment, and then pushed her away so that he could look at her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

Buffy felt her heart leap into her throat. She couldn't believe what she'd just heard. Was he actually going to apologize for humiliating and threatening her?

"For what?" she asked quietly.

"I'm sorry you can't be where you can wear a fancy dress and I'm sorry you got a one-way-ticket to Shitsville." He gave her a half-smile before continuing. "But you did look really hot in that dress."

Buffy laughed. She couldn't help herself. Seriously? That's what he was sorry for? A stupid dress that she could never have afforded even if she was still in her old world. God, they were both idiots. She wasn't sure which one of them was worse at the moment - him for being a clueless dumbass, or her for falling for it.

"What's so funny?" he asked. "I was trying to have a moment."

"Yeah, well you're really bad at it," she replied, but she started kissing him again anyway.

She decided she didn't care right now. She was going to forget about their battles for the time being and she was going to let herself believe the things that she knew his body would tell her tonight. She would let herself feel loved. Tomorrow, she'd go back to being pissed at him and fighting for her right to have a say in her own life… and, of course, she'd go back to worrying about being in love with a man who may never love her back. But just for tonight, she was going to play the part of a happy idiot.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: The next chapter will be very smutty ;)


	4. Chapter 4

Warning: Smutty, smutty smut ahead. Don't even bother reading this week if you're looking for plot, cuz you ain't gonna find it. *evil grin*

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean had made peace with the Buffy situation. At least that was what he told himself and what he believed the majority of the time. Crowley was an evil, lying bastard, but he was right about one thing, Dean was taking unfair advantage of Buffy. He wasn't the world's greatest guy and he may as well be honest about it. He was sure that if she had the choice, she would be back in her world where she'd probably be in college and have some preppy, rich boyfriend named 'Dirk' or something douchey like that. He didn't know, because he didn't ask. He found tales of her past personal life way too disturbing and tried not to torture himself. It was hard enough to acknowledge that she didn't want to be here without having to hear about the 'Exciting Adventures of Buffy and Dirk'. He didn't blame her or anything. Of course she didn't want to be stuck here with him in this craphole of a world. She'd be crazy if she did. But she was here and there was nothing he could do to change it. She was also bound to him and he told himself there was nothing he could do about that either (even if he wanted to).

If it was even true, Crowley's cryptic info on releasing Buffy from the binding spell was still completely useless. He had exactly one reference book – his dad's journal - and it said exactly squat about Slayers and binding spells. He also had no clue how to even get ahold of the gem known as 'blue amber'. He sure as hell didn't see himself making it to the Dominican Republic anytime soon. That was for sure. So, regardless of what his inner-Sam liked to say at times, he'd put his conscience to rest. The situation wasn't ideal for her, but he was doing his best. He tried to keep her safe and make her happy. That was more than most people in this world had.

As far as making her happy went, he had some really fun plans on the agenda today. The two of them were trapped in the house due to an unexpected mid-November storm, which had resulted in over a foot of snow and biting winds. It was way too nasty to even think about going outside, so they had no hunting responsibilities at the moment. The weather situation gave him the chance to catch a nice, mellow buzz and have some kinky, dirty sex with a beautiful woman. It didn't get much better than that.

He'd poured himself a glass of scotch and was in the process of sipping it slowly while he enjoyed the sight of Buffy lying on a blanket in front of the wood stove. She was naked – always a bonus – and she was fuming with frustration. It was hot as hell and he was proud of the pervy idea that had led him to make use of an aspect of the binding spell for his own kinky purposes. It turned out he could say a few words in Latin over anything that could be considered a restraint and _presto_ it was Slayer proof. He had done just that with a silk scarf and now Buffy's wrists were tied together behind her back. She was aggravated as hell about it too, mostly because she was extremely turned on and couldn't get any release.

Dean had decided to give her the spanking fantasy he knew she wanted, but he was giving it his own naughty twist. The point being to make her as horny as possible and she was definitely getting there. He'd stripped her, tied her hands together, spanked her, and then he'd stepped away to make a drink - all without so much as touching what he was sure was an extremely wet pussy. She was probably cursing at him, but he wasn't sure because he'd also temporarily gagged her. But if the daggers she was shooting him with her eyes were any indication, he was getting called everything imaginable right about now. She was definitely ready to go, so he drained the glass with one final swallow and headed back over to the blanket where she was lying face-down. He pulled the gag from her mouth and prepared to be amused.

"I'm going to kill you, Dean," she threatened. "Just wait. One of these days, this spell will break."

He grinned at her. "You gonna punish me?" he teased. "Make it hurt in all the naughty places?"

"No," she replied through gritted teeth. "You can dream on, because I'm going to rip out your spinal column. _In one piece_," she emphasized.

"Damn!" he exclaimed with a laugh. "You're vicious, baby."

He untied her wrists and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back up onto her hands and knees. He took a minute to pinch and fondle her hard nipples before sliding a hand between her legs. Just as he'd expected, she was extremely wet and practically jumped out of her skin at the contact.

"So, guess you're pretty pissed at me right now?" he asked as he rubbed her swollen clit.

"Yes," she managed to gasp out.

He lay on his side beside her and took the two fingers he'd been using to play with her and sucked one of them into his mouth. "Pissed-off Buffy tastes awesome," he remarked with a grin as he pressed those same fingers against her lips. She took both into her mouth and sucked and licked them sensuously. He was most definitely getting a blow job later.

"Buffy, I'm disappointed," he said as he began rubbing her clit again (he had to try hard to make himself sound stern and serious). "You're pussy's dripping again. This is supposed to be punishment. You're not supposed to get off on it." He emphasized his words with a hard slap to one of her still-red butt cheeks, causing her to emit a high-pitched little squeal. "Know what? If you're determined to be such a bad girl, I'm going to teach you how to do it right… Maybe we should start with dirty talk?"

Buffy moaned and tried to grind herself against his hand, but he moved it away. "What do you want me to do, Buffy?" he asked her. "You have to tell me."

"_Dean, _you know what I want," she said in that frustrated little whine that he loved so much.

"Nah," he shrugged. "High school dropout here. Not real smart. I need detailed instructions and it's best to use the dirtiest words you can think of. I'll probably understand those better."

"Touch me," she asked a little desperately.

"Touch you where?"

Buffy took a breath and was silent for a brief moment. He loved how she seemed to have such trouble even saying certain words. It was so cute and such a turn on.

"Touch my pussy," she finally said in a quiet voice.

He slid one finger inside of her, making her gasp, but he didn't move it or do anything else. She responded by groaning in frustration and trying to fuck herself on his hand. After a few seconds he removed the finger. "You'll have to tell me exactly what you want," he instructed.

"I want you to fuck me," she said with a moan. From the way the breath hitched in her throat, he could tell that being forced to talk dirty was turning her on.

"Be specific, Buffy."

"I want you to… I want you to stick your cock in me and… fuck me hard."

"You'd like that?" he asked as he gave her ass another hard slap.

"Yes," she admitted breathlessly.

"Where do you want me to stick my cock?" he asked her.

"In my pussy," she requested, practically stumbling over the words. "I-I want you to fuck my pussy."

Dean got rid of the boxers he was wearing and positioned himself behind her. Instead of entering her, he teased her by rubbing his cock over her slick opening and giving a few more sharp slaps to her bright red ass cheeks.

"Please, Dean," she practically whined as she tried to move her hips backwards. "Fuck my…." she hesitated before adding the word "cunt", almost in a whisper. Dean grinned and forced himself not to chuckle. He'd never heard her say that word. He wouldn't be surprised if this was the first time she ever had. He decided that was _extra_ dirty talk for her and rewarded them both by burying himself inside her with one firm stroke. Buffy cried out and for a moment he thought she was going to come right then. She was definitely very close.

"How do you want it, baby?" he asked her in a strained voice, because he was damn horny himself by this point.

"Hard," she gasped. "I want you to fuck my cunt hard."

"Hell yeah," he agreed as he started giving her exactly what she asked for. It wasn't long before he could feel her inner walls begin to ripple around him. As she came, he continued slamming into her. By the time she finished peaking, he was supporting her with two hands wrapped firmly around her upper thighs. Otherwise her knees would have slipped out from under her.

When he was satisfied that she was done, he pulled out and let her sink limply onto the blankets, then gave her a sharp slap to the ass.

"Suck me off, bad girl" he ordered as he rolled her over. He kissed her slowly before standing up and motioning for her to get up on her knees. "But, no touching yourself," he warned as he pressed the tip of his dick against her lips. "Don't make me tie you up and spank you again."

Halfway through the completely mind-melting blowjob, he smiled when he noticed she was using one hand to stroke him and the other to play with herself. His girl obviously wanted to go all day and he was game. Of course, he might have a heart attack, but it was still one hell of a way to go.

XXXXXXXXXX

It was awesome just to be with Buffy without the stress of the hunt hanging over them. It wasn't that they didn't work well together, it was the fact that she had become way more insistent on having input lately and was far less likely to just follow his orders without question. Her input was usually pretty good and Dean realized that, but it still stressed him out to think something serious could go down and she might fail to take his lead at a crucial moment. He was sure a lot of people would say he was one controlling, screwed-up, paranoid bastard, but knowing that didn't lessen his anxiety any. If 'a lot of people' had spent their entire lives losing everyone and having no sense of control over their own life, they'd be joining him in the controlling, screwed-up, paranoid bastard club. So, those people could fuck off. He didn't want to think about that crap right now anyway. He was too busy just enjoying the moment, because the day was turning out to be even more fun than he had imagined. The blow job Buffy had given him was one for the record books. He'd definitely have to return the favor.

He'd had to take a short break to go bring in some more firewood. Unfortunately, that had required him to put on clothes. He'd be getting rid of those soon enough though. After he'd put some more logs in the woodstove, the area right in front of it had gotten almost unbearably hot, prompting them to move a little farther away. He was sitting on the edge of the couch cushion and Buffy was straddling him while he sucked and licked at her neck and breasts. During the break, he'd also made himself another drink and was very nicely buzzed and feeling extremely devious. When he realized Buffy had started grinding her pussy against his crotch, he decided to tease her mercilessly. He had stuffed the scarf he'd used to tie her hands in his back pocket and now seemed like a good time to put it back to work. With a wicked grin, he pulled it out and dangled it in front of her face.

"I almost forgot I caught you fingering yourself while you blew me. Thought I told you not to do that?"

Buffy blushed a little before scowling at the hand holding the scarf. "You suck," she pouted.

He winked at her as he started winding the scarf back around her wrists. "Pretty sure you were the one doing all the sucking. Besides, warned you, didn't I?"

Buffy gave him a dirty look, but moaned and moved her hips against him with more purpose. She was obviously turned on by him tying her up again, which was the whole point. When he was finished securing her hands, he looped her arms around his neck and scooted her butt back a bit, so that she was no longer pressed against his crotch. Then he spread his legs wide so that her crotch was no longer connecting with anything but thin air. Buffy was clearly irritated by this, especially after he reached around and popped her on the ass.

"Told you," he said with a smirk. "You need to learn to behave yourself."

When Buffy whimpered in protest and instinctively tried to grind her pussy against nothing, he was overcome with lust. She was such a hot and horny little thing, and he was buzzed as hell. The combination caused his mind to drift in directions it probably shouldn't. He suddenly and very badly wanted to 'take her virginity' today. It wasn't so much the act of anal sex as it was the idea of what it represented for a girl like Buffy. Sure, he liked it and all, but was more than happy with the regular kind of sex, especially with her. The thing was, he knew that it was an act that required a serious amount of trust on the part of the girl. She either had to be really into anal (and some chicks were) or she had to really trust the guy she was with. Buffy had never done it before, so it would require trust on her part, otherwise it would be painful. The idea of being her first, along with the intimacy implied by her trusting him enough to make it enjoyable, made him determined to follow through. He could feel his dick straining painfully against his jeans just thinking about it. Now he had to get what he wanted without freaking her out too badly.

Oral sex seemed like a pretty good place to start. He could make her come really hard and that should loosen up her inhibitions some. He owed her one anyway… not that it was a chore. He loved the way she tasted and the way she always moaned and writhed beneath him. So, he set her feet on the floor and went to pull the blanket a little further away from the woodstove. The two of them were generating enough of their own heat. Once he'd taken care of that task and gotten rid of his clothes, he motioned for her to join him on the floor and proceeded to eat her out until she screamed.

By the time Buffy came, Dean was so turned on that he could no longer think straight. He had to have her tight little ass and it was going to happen. He was way too buzzed and horny to stop himself now. He just had to remember to be gentle with her, which wasn't going to be easy considering how hard he was at the moment.

She was lying on her back with her eyes closed as she basked in the afterglow. Dean pulled her into a sitting position by her bound wrists and kissed her slowly and deeply. The combined taste of the both of them only served to make him hornier - something he didn't think was even possible. He moved his lips to her neck and nibbled on her earlobe before saying quietly against her ear, "Today's the day, baby. You're going to be a _very_ bad girl for me, cause I'm gonna fuck you in that cute little ass."

Buffy pulled back and looked at him with her eyes wide in shock. She looked so innocent and vulnerable, and yet so sultry at the same time. It was probably just further proof that he was a twisted bastard, but her expression made him want to both protect her and do very naughty things to her. The way that lower lip of hers was caught in a permanent pout was just too much to bear. He was definitely going to hell… again. Might as well enjoy the ride. He kissed her again, sucking that pouty lip into his mouth and then rose to go and grab something that would make the ride a smooth one.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy wasn't sure what she was thinking. She was a little taken aback, but not actually surprised. She'd been waiting for him to make this move and part of her had been looking forward to it. Then there was another part of her that was a little afraid, and yet another part of her that was very embarrassed by the idea of actually doing such a thing. The act was definitely of the forbidden variety. Not to mention the fact that her wrists were still tied together. It was all very kinky… but did she want to go through with it?

Despite Dean's dominance act (well sort of 'act', anyway), she was absolutely certain that he wouldn't make her do this if he thought she was actually against it. She could get out of it. All she had to do was make it clear that she really didn't want to do it. But the thing was, she did want to try it and ultimately she trusted Dean. He may be bossy and they had their issues sometimes, but she knew he had no desire to hurt her. So, even though she was still pretty anxious, she decided she was going to submit and let him take the reins.

When Dean returned, he was wearing a very devious smirk and carrying a tube of KY Jelly. Obviously, he'd been planning this or he wouldn't have picked something like that up. Buffy felt like the proverbial fly caught in the spider's web. Maybe this wasn't such a good idea.

Dean seemed to pick up on her reluctance, because he was suddenly less cocky and more tender. He knelt down and pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly as he massaged her back and shoulders.

"You freakin' out?" he asked her gently.

"A little," she admitted.

He pushed her hair behind her ear and nibbled at her throat for a moment. She could feel her anxiety starting to melt a little.

"You'll be fine," he promised her in a gravelly voice. "I'll take care of you. You know I will. And I'm pretty sure you're gonna like it," he added with a trace of cockiness slipping back into his voice.

Things didn't progress quite like she expected. Once she was on her knees with her head resting on a pillow, she sort of thought he'd get down to business, but he pressed himself into her pussy instead. After a few deep thrusts, she was lost in the moment, so it was a bit of a shock when she felt his fingers beginning to caress the outside of her asshole. She had to admit that it felt good. It was definitely a new and different sensation. He continued thrusting in and out of her with long, deep strokes as he slid first one and then two fingers into her ass. It didn't hurt, but she was definitely very tight around his fingers. She started to feel a little panicky when she remembered that his cock was much bigger than his fingers.

"You have to relax, Buffy," he ordered her. "You have to let me in."

"I can't," she said softly. "I don't think I can do this."

"Sure you can," he replied in a voice that was gentle but firm. "I'm not going to hurt you. Just let it happen." He reached beneath her and started playing with her clit and soon Buffy was once again lost in sensation. She barely noticed when he added a third finger. She only knew that she was incredibly turned on. He soon pulled out of her and removed his fingers from her ass, but continued playing with her clit. Distantly, she was aware that he was trying to keep her mind off what he was busy doing, which was lubing up his cock.

When she felt his head pressing against her asshole, she tensed up a bit. "Relax Buffy," he reminded/ordered her. She tried, but still held her breath as he spread her cheeks open wide and began pressing himself inside of her.

Once the head of his cock was fully inside, he asked, "You okay?" in a deep and husky voice.

"Uh huh," Buffy replied. She was okay. It had hurt a little when he first entered, but not badly. Now she was just excited to see what would happen next.

He pushed himself inside of her very slowly, rubbing her clit the entire time.

"You're getting wetter, Buffy," he remarked as he dipped a finger inside her pussy. "That's a good girl."

She moaned in response, words were kind of out of the question at the moment. He was right, she was getting wetter, much wetter. In fact, she was almost ridiculously horny.

Finally, he bottomed out inside of her ass and held himself still for a moment. She could hear him breathing heavily and waited in nervous anticipation for him to start moving. When he did, he quickly pulled everything but his head out and then very slowly pressed himself back inside of her. He repeated this several times, pulling out quickly and pushing slowly back in. By then, all of Buffy's inhibitions had melted away. She only knew that she wanted more.

"Harder," she groaned. "Do it harder."

Buffy felt a sharp slap hit one of her ass cheeks and almost came right then.

"You are a bad girl, aren't you Buffy?" he asked. "You like being fucked in the ass."

"Mmm hmmm," she mumbled, unable to think straight enough to use actual words.

He began thrusting inside her with more force and Buffy became completely undone. She was pretty sure she was asking for more, but she may have just been moaning. It was hard to be sure right now.

"Say it, Buffy," he ordered between ragged breaths. "Say you're my bad girl."

"I am," she gasped. "I'm a bad girl. I'm your bad girl."

"That's right," he groaned before giving her ass another hard slap. "You're _my_ bad girl… Nobody else's. I'm the only one who's ever been inside this tight little ass and the only one who ever will be."

"Yes," she agreed breathlessly. "I'm yours… only yours."

This seemed to set something off in Dean and he started pounding into her. It wasn't long before Buffy was screaming with the force of her climax. While she was still peaking, she heard him utter a loud, guttural groan as he poured himself into her. The moment was incredibly intense. They'd never peaked together before. When she finally felt like she was almost back on earth, Dean pulled out of her and leaned down to kiss her below her ear.

"You're mine, Buffy," he said in a voice that was very serious and filled with some unnamed emotion. "You're my girl… and I'm sorry, but I can't let you go," he said as he sunk down on the blanket beside her.

"I don't want you to," she replied in a whisper, but she was pretty sure he didn't hear her. The combination of wild sex and alcohol had knocked him out. He was sound asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Some dialogue in this chapter was taken from the BtVS S5 eps: _The Gift, Weight of the World, _and _Intervention_. Big thanks to Eiress for pointing me in the direction of many of those quotes and showing me how they could be used here. I knew what I wanted to do, but wasn't sure how to get there and the quotes worked perfectly.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Hold still while I clean this up," Buffy said with a forced smile as she pressed a wet washcloth against the large scrape on Noah's forehead. The boy just stared solemnly ahead and barely flinched as she wiped the dirt and small pieces of gravel from the wound he'd gotten when he fell as he ran out of the forest.

"Dean hates me now, don't he?" he asked. It was obvious he was trying hard not to cry.

Buffy sighed and looked over at the kitchen table where Dean was sitting with a glass of some sort of liquor, furiously flipping through the battered journal he was always referring to. She wasn't sure how he even kept the thing together, so many of the pages were loose and torn.

"No," she answered with a sad shake of her head. "Of course he doesn't hate you."

"He's real pissed though. Thinks I got Tyler killed." The boy sniffed loudly and tried to steady his voice. "I didn't mean to… I was just teachin' him how to hunt. It's usually safe out there during the day."

Unconsciously, Buffy glanced toward the adjoining room where the eleven-year-old's body lay shrouded beneath a bed sheet. Something had attacked the two friends while they were outside the gates, hunting deer. Noah had managed to wound the mysterious creature by shooting it, but not before it sunk its claws into Tyler. The boy's wound wasn't even that bad. It certainly shouldn't have been fatal, but by the time the pair had stumbled up to their front door, Tyler was burning up with fever and barely standing. Less than fifteen-minutes later he was seizing and shortly after that he stopped breathing. There was nothing they could do but watch him die, and now Dean was delaying taking the boy's body back to his family in favor of trying to identify what killed him. The problem was that he was spinning his wheels by referring to a journal he'd obviously memorized long ago. He was clearly just avoiding the inevitable.

Buffy returned her attention to Noah, frowned sympathetically and lowered her voice. "Don't blame yourself. Bad things happen. It's not your fault... and if I know Dean, he's busy figuring out some elaborate and highly illogical scenario that makes it all his fault."

Dean stood suddenly and slammed his empty glass on the tabletop. "Come on, Noah," he called out loudly. "We've gotta go back and get that deer you killed. Can't afford to waste it."

Noah shook his head. "I don't wanna go back out there."

"Well too frickin bad! A kid died for that stupid-ass thing. We're getting it and you're using every damn scrap of it too. So, quit being such a girl and move your ass!"

Dean's tirade was the thing that finally broke the boy's shaky composure. He buried his face in his hands and sobbed. Buffy squeezed Noah's shoulder reassuringly and prepared to tear into Dean, but stopped herself when she realized he was watching the scene with a devastated expression on his face. He suddenly looked much younger and softer with his freckles contrasting against his now pale face. She wondered if he knew that his expressions always gave him away.

"Buffy, go grab a coat and some shoes," he said with a sigh as he stepped up behind her.

She walked away with a departing glare, mostly because she suspected Dean was going to play nice and, for some reason, he didn't want her to see or hear it. God forbid there be any witnesses to him not being a complete, chauvinistic ass. Besides, all she had to do was concentrate a little and her super-hearing would allow her to hear every word that was said. If he decided to switch back into dick-mode, she'd know about it and he'd get an earful from her.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy groaned and didn't even bother trying to hide her disgust as she watched Noah field dress the dead deer. Dean, however, listened attentively while the boy quietly explained the disgusting process, which consisted basically of cutting the animal open and pulling all the guts out. She knew this was a necessary part of life in this world, but she wasn't sure she'd ever get used to seeing her food while it still had a face. She suspected Dean felt the same way, but he was doing a pretty good job of looking stoic. It was obviously a manly pride thing. There was no way the great Dean Winchester was going to let on that he couldn't stomach a task that a fourteen-year-old boy seemed to have no problem tackling.

She was just glad he had smoothed things over with Noah and attempted to ease the boy's guilt. She'd listened in on their conversation and had been prepared to have to butt in and smack him for being and ass, but now it seemed obvious that he'd had some experience with children somewhere along the line, and he had a knack for it too. You just never knew about him. He was full of surprises.

After a few more very disgusting minutes had gone by, Noah announced that they were all set and he and Dean then proceeded to drag the large buck out of the woods by its antlers. Both of them were straining with the effort, but Buffy pretended to be oblivious and didn't bother offering her assistance. It could be a bonding experience for them, she decided with a smile. Besides, she was the Slayer. Her schedule was already packed full of nasty dead things. She simply didn't have room on the list for the recently deceased Bambi or any of his relatives. She also wasn't very enthusiastic about speeding up the process any more than necessary. Because as soon as they got back, they'd have to load up Tyler's body and take it back to town and back to his family. She wasn't looking forward to it.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean already felt like he'd been beaten by a gang of outlaw bikers and the hunt had only just officially begun. It was so brutal to have to look into the faces of two very devastated parents and tell them their oldest child was dead. He'd rather go on ten-thousand hunts than have to do that even once. Thankfully, Buffy had stepped up and handled most of it, but she'd probably only done so because she thought he was too big of a hard-hearted bastard to be trusted with doing it himself. Whatever her reasons, he was still grateful. The truth was, she handled it with far more grace than he was currently capable of.

Despite the circumstances, it was always fascinating to watch Buffy interact with the people of the town. They had been standoffish at first, unsure of what to make of this tiny girl who could lift a grown man over her head with one finger. None of them had ever seen a Slayer before. He didn't even know they existed himself until shortly after all the shit hit the fan. The rumor was that there used to be only one Slayer on earth at any given time, but once the world became overrun with monsters, some mysterious group called the Watcher's Council had supposedly worked some mojo to activate every potential Slayer in the world. Many felt it was the only thing that had kept humanity from extinction, but even so, they still didn't know what to think of these super-powered girls. Buffy had quickly won them over, however. She was pretty, charming, and funny, or in other words, completely irresistible. God knows he'd failed miserably when he tried to resist getting attached to her.

A snort and a chuckle from beside him, broke Dean out of his thoughts. The sound had come from Joe, the hunter who'd recently sold his soul to Crowley. The man had insisted on helping in the search for whatever killed the kid.

"Dude, what?" Dean asked a little irritably.

"I just think it's kinda funny that you sent our best weapon North when the attack happened South."

"So," Dean replied defensively. "That don't mean crap. It's hard to tell where that thing is holed up. It could be anywhere. Hell, it might be miles away by now. Maybe it even crawled off and died? Noah was pretty sure he put a bullet in it."

"Whatever you say," Joe remarked with a grin. "I was just making an observation."

"Well observe this," Dean said dryly as he held up his middle finger.

The other man just threw back his head and laughed. "Man, you are so full of shit. How does that poor girl put up with your sorry ass?"

Dean gave in and cracked a smile. "Hey, I'll have you know, I'm a joy to live with."

"I'm sure," Joe remarked with an eye roll. After a few moments of silence, he added. "Do you believe those stories about the Watcher's Council secretly ruling the world? I figured you'd know since you have one of their Slayers and all."

It was Dean's turn to snort. "What? That's bullshit. Nobody rules the world anymore."

"I hope not," Joe said. "Cause I've heard stuff about them getting heavy-handed with some of the hunters. We don't need no more problems, ya know?"

Dean waved a hand through the air. "Nah. It's just like all those crazy stories about the President living underground or in space or some shit. Dude, just the other day, I heard some guy swear that Clint Eastwood had declared himself king of a town out west. The freakin' king! Now, that would be awesome," he observed with a boyish grin, before shaking his head and continuing on more seriously, "Come on. None of that crap is true. They're just rumors. Face it, the tin hats don't have the internet anymore, they gotta do something for fun."

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy didn't argue when Dean sent her North, because her instincts were telling her that was exactly where she needed to go. She'd found that sometimes it was easier to just let him believe he was getting his way, especially in cases like this. Because, it did make sense for them to split up and try to cover as much ground as possible before the sun went down, and if Dean mistakenly believed he was ordering her out of harm's way, fine. It was a strategy known as 'picking your battles' and she was becoming very familiar with that particular tactic.

She sensed the creature before she saw it. The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end as they always did when something nasty was in the vicinity, but in this case, the smell alone gave the bad guy away. The odor was extremely putrid, but still nowhere near as nauseating as having to look at the thing. The monster was emaciated with patches of stringy hair clinging to its head and massive, dirty looking claws extending from long, skinny fingers. The thing was most definitely ugly, not a surprise there, but the disturbing thing was the fact that 'he' was naked. She really didn't need to see that. Nobody did. It was just wrong on so many levels.

Buffy wrinkled her nose at the stench and stared impassively at the snarling creature standing several yards away. "You know, there's a lot of abandoned houses around these days. It wouldn't kill you to break in and grab a pair of pants. Maybe even a shirt…. But, gotta tell ya. At this point, I'd settle for a loin cloth."

Mr. Ugly just growled at her and swiped the air with its claws. It was kind of disappointing actually. Buffy rarely found a creature capable of quippy banter these days. She did kind of miss that.

"Fine," she shrugged. "Straight to business." She pulled out the crossbow that was slung over her shoulder and loaded a bolt, deciding hand-to-hand combat probably wasn't such a good idea. Obviously there was the poisonous claws problem, but she was honestly more concerned with the smell and the yucky nakedness. She did not want that 'thing' anywhere near her, much less touching her.

The bolt landed squarely in the center of the creature's chest, but it didn't seem very concerned. It looked down and stared curiously at the protruding object for a second before ripping it out, throwing it aside, and advancing on her with a snarl. _Darn._ Well_,_ that didn't work. But, she still had her stupid pistol. The thing was already bleeding from a wound to its shoulder, which was presumably the result of Noah's bullet. So, maybe a gun was the way to go?

She might not be thrilled with guns, but that didn't mean she hadn't learned to be an excellent shot during the six months she'd spent in this reality. The bullet found its mark right between the thing's eyes and it seemed to do the trick. The creature fell over backwards and lay still on the ground, but Buffy still approached it with caution. She knew better than to assume anything and wasn't surprised when it lashed out with its claws the second she came within striking distance. Being ready, she jumped up and easily avoided getting slashed. In a flash, the thing was back on its feet and looking pissed. It seemed it had reached its limits on being shot at for one day. Buffy groaned in irritation and pulled out a knife. Yay for her, it looked like hand-to-hand combat after all.

XXXXXXXXXX

The unmistakable sound of Buffy's gun firing off a round sent Dean running. He and Joe had split up in order to cover more ground, but the other hunter soon joined him on the trail leading north. Dean decided that Joe was a pretty smart guy after all, because he didn't dare to make any cracks about Dean freaking out. He just silently drew his own pistol and fell into step behind him.

The shot sounded fairly close by and they hadn't been on the hunt for more than twenty minutes, so Dean was sure Buffy couldn't have gotten far. Up ahead, he could hear the sounds of grunting and growling… _and damn, what was that smell?_ The narrow trail he was on opened up into a clearing at the top of a small hill and the moment he moved beyond the trees, he spotted Buffy engaged in an all-out brawl with one of the nastiest looking freaks he'd ever laid eyes on. It reminded him somewhat of a wendigo, but the giant claws were a new twist… and oh God, it was buck-ass naked! What the hell?

"_Buffy!"_ he called out in alarm. He wasn't sure where his common sense was. The last thing she needed right now was a distraction. Her name had barely left his lips when he realized how fucking stupid that move was. It was too late to take it back though and she turned her head to look at him. She probably didn't take her eyes off of the monster for more than a fraction of a second, but that was all it needed in order to land one good swipe with its talons. It caught her high up on her left arm, easily slicing through the jacket and sweater she was wearing.

Buffy cried out in what sounded more like surprise than actual pain. She glanced over at her arm for a brief moment and when she looked back at the creature, Dean saw a glimpse of the true essence of the Slayer that lived within the girl. It was pure predatory rage and it was both beautiful and terrible at the same time. Before, she had been dancing around the creature in an effort to avoid the poisonous claws, but now that she'd been struck, she seemed to decide to go for a more direct approach. She flung herself at the thing and grabbed it on each side of its head, giving one sharp twist. The sound of its neck breaking quickly followed and the creature fell over in a limp heap. A hushed silence fell over the clearing as Buffy turned to examine her arm and Dean stood still, horrified by what he'd caused.

Joe broke the silence with a low whistle. "Whoa," he remarked. "Remind me to never piss you off."

Joe's words broke Dean out of his trance and he rushed forward, grabbing Buffy by her uninjured shoulder and turning her toward him. "Oh God," he said as he peered at her other arm. For a second he'd allowed himself to hope that the creature's claws hadn't pierced her skin, but now that he was up close he could see traces of blood through the shredded remains of her coat and sweater. "Oh God," he repeated as he swallowed hard, not sure what else to say.

Buffy frowned and looked up from her wound. "I know, right? I really liked this jacket." She cracked a small smile when he continued to stare at her in silent horror. "I'm fine, Dean," she said as she shrugged nonchalantly. "It barely scratched me. Tyler said his burned like fire and mine doesn't even sting. Mystical supergirl here, remember? I'm probably immune."

"You better be," he said tightly as he gazed at the dead creature lying on the ground in front of them. He briefly considered torching the body to be safe, but decided he wanted to get Buffy out of the woods, in case she was hurt worse than she was letting on. "Come on," he announced as he tugged on the sleeve of her right arm. "Let's get the fuck out of Dodge. The sun'll be going down soon."

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy really believed that she was fine, but by the time they'd made it halfway back, the wound began burning and throbbing. She tried to act normal and tell herself it was no big deal, but was starting to doubt that theory once she made it back inside and felt an urgent need to sit due to the spinning room around her. A touch of panic began to set in as she recalled how quickly the little boy's condition had deteriorated. She could actually feel the blood rushing through her body and pounding in her ears, and wondered if it was simply the result of anxiety or if it was the poison working its way through her system. She took a couple of deep breaths to calm herself and tried to recall the meditation exercises she and Giles had once worked on. If she could just calm herself down and get her racing pulse under control, she'd be fine.

A drink of water… that's what she needed. She was just so hot and thirsty. If Dean were here, she'd ask him to get it for her, but she had no idea where he was. He'd disappeared as soon as they'd walked in the door and he'd been gone for a really long time. She'd just have to get it herself.

Buffy didn't make it to the kitchen, because the floor was slanted and she slipped. What was up with that? She heard Dean's voice from above, but couldn't seem to make her brain compute anything. For one thing, she kept staring at his boots, wondering how he was able to keep his balance on the steep incline and why the floor seemed to be all bubbly. Something wasn't right here and she had a feeling she should know why that was, but she couldn't concentrate and Dean wasn't helping. He had pulled her into a sitting position and was in her face asking her all sorts of questions, but she couldn't understand them because he sounded really far away…

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as they stepped in the door. There was a first aid kit under the sink and he wanted to get Buffy's arm cleaned up before some sort of infection set in. That freak was so disgusting. It was hard to tell what kind of germs it was carrying. Even if she hadn't been poisoned, she was still at risk of her arm rotting off.

He couldn't have been gone for more than thirty seconds, but when he returned, Buffy was lying on the floor and her face was extremely flushed. The scene was eerily similar to the one that had occurred just hours before and he felt a painful twist inside his gut. She wasn't immune. The poison had just taken a little longer to kick in this time. He'd killed her. Not only had he sent her straight towards the creature, he'd distracted her at a crucial moment. She was going to die because of one of his screw ups.

No, fuck that, he decided. Tyler was a just a kid and on the small side for his age, Buffy was a grown woman and she was also a Slayer. She was tough. Those things should give her an edge that the boy didn't have.

"Buffy," he said urgently as he pulled her into a sitting position. "Talk to me. Are you in pain?" She just stared back with glassy eyes, he wasn't sure if she was even hearing him. "_Buffy!"_ he said loudly, shaking her a little in his frustration. "Do you hear me? Say something!"

She knitted her brows together like she was confused, but still didn't reply. Dean decided to give up on communicating with her for the moment. He needed to see her arm. Problem was, she wasn't able to help him undress her. She was basically a ragdoll. He had to struggle to peel her coat off while he supported her weight with one arm. He quickly gave up on trying to pull the sweater over her head and pulled out his knife, separating the fabric just enough to allow him to rip it the rest of the way off.

The wound itself wasn't bad at all. There were four long scratches on her upper arm that reminded him of something a really angry housecat would do. They weren't even bleeding anymore. Even though he realized it was probably pointless, he lowered her back to the floor and pulled a bottle of alcohol and some gauze from the first aid kit, and used them to clean the scratches. He wasn't sure what else to do and at least it was something, because he was desperate to distract himself from the fact that her skin was on fire. If she started seizing like the boy did, he was going to lose his shit. What the hell was he supposed to do? He wasn't a doctor and he didn't know anyone who was, nobody living anyway. He ran through various cheesy TV medical dramas in his head, searching for something he could use. It seemed like he'd seen House (or maybe George Clooney) put somebody in a tub of ice water once. Maybe that would work? If he could lower her fever, maybe she could fight this thing off.

He squeezed her hand and kissed her burning forehead before standing up. "Just hold on, baby. I'll be right back," he assured her, even though she didn't appear to hear him anymore.

_In her mind, Buffy was back in Sunnydale, trapped in a confusing jumble of disturbing memories. Willow was following her around as she paced, trying to convince her she was needed and Giles was arguing with her, insisting that they must kill her sister and Dawn… Poor, innocent Dawn was terrified, crying, and bleeding at the top of Glory's tower. She was saying she was going to jump, said she had to, that it was the only way to stop the ritual. Buffy couldn't let her do that, dying was her job not her baby sister's. She had to jump. Death was her gift._

Dean tossed her hiking boots aside and tugged her jeans off, then lifted her in his arms. He'd filled the tub with cold water and then added some snow from the drifts that still lingered in shady spots outside. The water was freezing and he prayed it would do its job and lower her fever. In the few minutes he'd been gone, her skin seemed to have grown even hotter. He was afraid her brain would cook if something wasn't done soon.

_A scream of terror burst from Buffy's lips as she once again felt the burning sensation she felt when her body plummeted to the ground_. _It was almost cold, but so cold that it burned like thousands of tiny knives piercing her skin. She struggled against the force that seemed to hold her in midair, suspended in the moment of her death. Why was it keeping her here? _

"I'm sorry, Buffy," Dean said as he bit his lip and forced himself to hold her shoulders down and prevent her from rising above the water. The water was painfully cold and his hands ached from it. Being completely submerged had to be miserable, but it had to be done.

_Buffy focused her gaze and saw a familiar face above hers. It was Dean. She was so relieved to see him, but why was he here? He wasn't supposed to be in this world. Then, she realized he was the one holding onto her shoulders, preventing her from falling to the ground. _

"Dean," she managed to croak out through her parched throat.

"Yeah baby, I'm here. I've got you. I know this is terrible, but it'll be over soon. I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

_He didn't understand that she had to jump. Despite the searing pain, she had to find a way to pull herself together long enough to make him see that he had to let her do this. It was the only way. _

"Let me go," she gasped out. "You have to…. Death is my gift."

Dean almost lost his grip on her when she spoke. Did she really feel that way? Would she honestly rather be dead than be here with him? No, he told himself firmly. She doesn't know what she's saying. She's sick and in pain.

"Oh hell no," he said angrily as he continued to hold her shoulders beneath the water. "That's bullshit. You're not dying on me."

She rolled her head back and forth on the rim of the tub and tried to say something else, but it came out as jumbled nonsense. Her body was beginning to shiver due to the cold and she no longer seemed able to form words. Her previously flushed skin had gotten much paler and her lips were now tinged with blue. He hoped that meant her body temperature was dropping.

XXXXXXXXXX

Once Dean was satisfied that Buffy's fever had gone down, he pulled her out of the freezing water and carried her to the bedroom. She was still unresponsive and restless, but he was encouraged by the beads of sweat that had begun to break out on her forehead. It may have been an old wives tale, but Dean believed that was a sign her fever was breaking. He vaguely remembered being ill as a child and his dad wrapping him in every blanket he could get his hands on in the seedy hotel they were staying at. Dad had said you had to sweat a fever out. So, he seized on that memory and shoved Buffy's damp body under the covers and then went to the closet and grabbed a thick wool blanket to layer on top of her. She tossed and turned, clearly uncomfortable under the weight and heat of the blankets.

_She was caught in a loop. For some unknown reason she was being forced to relive the memories of the last few weeks of her life in Sunnydale. She was no longer on Glory's tower or falling through the air. Now, she was back in her old living room, in the house she'd once shared with her mother and Dawn. Giles was sitting on the couch beside her and she was trying to make him understand her fears about being the Slayer, about what she was becoming._

"Hard on the inside," Buffy mumbled. "Too hard to love at all…. Just a killer…"

Dean gritted his teeth and tried not to listen to her fevered ramblings. Most of them made no sense anyway, but every once in a while a certain phrase would slice him to the bone.

The perspiration had begun to increase and large droplets of fluid rolled off her forehead. Her body was now covered in a sheen of mist which drenched the blankets. The words began spouting faster from her mouth as she fought with the covers that confined her.

"This is ... all of this ... it's too much for me. I don't know how to live in this world… everything just gets stripped away… Don't see the point."

Dean felt like he'd been punched. Her words were so painful to listen to and she sounded so utterly miserable. It was heartbreaking because he had no idea life was this unbearable for her. It wasn't like he was a complete fool. He knew he needed her more than she would ever need him. He had accepted his place in her life and the fact that her heart would never truly be his. But, he had believed she felt some affection for him and thought he made this world bearable for her. Before he could take his thoughts further, he mentally slapped himself. This wasn't the time to cry or wallow in self-pity, he just had to focus on what needed to be done right now. Nothing would matter if he couldn't save her. So, he shoved his feelings aside and concentrated on the moment. Using a wet cloth, he wiped her forehead and once again tucked the blanket back over her after she thrashed and kicked it off again. Her eyes were open, but she didn't seem to be aware of his presence as she continued to toss back and forth and ramble nonsensically.

"Death is my gift," she said once again. "It doesn't matter…. I'm done with it. I'm quitting… I don't want to be here…"

Finally, she began to sleep fitfully, but still tossed and turned and mumbled nonsense here and there. Around the time she seemed to be settling into a deeper, more peaceful sleep, Dean realized that the sun was beginning to rise. This nightmare had lasted all night long, but that didn't matter, he was just grateful that the temperature of her skin seemed to be close to normal once more. He pulled the damp blankets off of her and replaced them with a clean one, then grabbed one of the wooden chairs that sat around the kitchen table and pulled it close to the bed. He would sit in it and watch over her until she woke up. Hopefully, the worst was over and she'd wake up soon and if so, he swore to himself that he would do everything within his power to make this life better for her. He just desperately hoped he wouldn't lose her in the process.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

Buffy came awake slowly. She had to fight against a great weariness that kept trying to pull her back under, but she continued to battle against it until sleep finally let her go. As she lay there with her eyes closed, she tried to take stock of her surroundings. She could hear some birdsong in the distance, but otherwise everything was quiet, aside from the ticking of a clock and some soft snoring to her left.

After the dreams she'd had, she was almost afraid to open her eyes. She had a sudden fear that she'd somehow survived the fall from Glory's tower and was now recuperating in her old bedroom in Sunnydale. That scenario would certainly explain why she felt like she'd been hit by a city bus. A wave of guilt washed over her when she realized that the last thing she wanted was to be back in Sunnydale. She reminded herself that it wasn't like she didn't love her sister and her friends. It was just that she'd let go of that world, she was dead there. She had a new life now and ironically, even though this world was mostly dead, she felt more alive here than she had in a very long time. Perhaps since before she'd been forced to kill Angel.

Buffy turned her head toward the source of the snoring and opened her eyes cautiously. Relief washed over her when she found herself staring at the familiar worn out knees on a pair of blue jeans. The jeans were so threadbare in places, they were practically white. She made a note to herself to encourage Dean to find some newer ones, since most of his seemed to be in similar condition. Her gaze traveled upwards and she realized he was sitting in one of the kitchen chairs, sleeping with his head cocked to the side and his mouth hanging open. She smiled, thinking he was the only person who could still manage to look gorgeous in that position. She really didn't think it was fair for 'the powers' to give a man such perfect features.

Her arm felt like it weighed a ton, but she slipped it out from underneath the blanket and placed a hand on Dean's knee. He jerked awake suddenly, almost tipping the chair over in the process. Buffy gasped in alarm, but when she saw he'd recovered his balance, she let out a giggle that sounded a lot like a frog croaking, since her throat was so parched she could barely make a sound.

Dean looked extremely fatigued and incredibly anxious. He immediately sprung to his feet and pressed a hand against her forehead. This was the side of Dean that always made Buffy go all melty inside. She grabbed his hand when he started to remove it and held it in both of her own.

"Guess my supergirl immunity theory was a bust," she whispered.

Dean stared at the hand she held and wrinkled his brow. "Uh… yeah. Looks like," he agreed as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "How you feel?"

"Thirsty."

Dean pulled his hand away, seemingly relieved to have something to do. "Yeah, no kidding. I'm sure you're dehydrated as hell. I'll be right back."

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy definitely didn't feel 100% but she still forced herself to get up and take a shower. When she awoke, she'd quickly realized that her hair was plastered to her forehead and honestly, she just felt gross. Dean had protested of course, saying she should stay in bed. He was being overprotective in a way that somehow managed to be both cute and overbearing at the same time. She was determined, however, and he'd finally realized he was fighting a losing battle.

The overprotective streak was just normal Dean-stuff, but aside from that, he was acting a little off. Something was wrong, but she wasn't sure what it could be. It wasn't like he was Mr. Talk About Feelings Guy, so it wasn't like he'd tell her what was wrong. She could sense it, however, because he would barely look at her and their conversation that morning had been awkward at best. She tried to tell herself that it probably had to do with the fact that he was exhausted. It was almost noon by the time she'd awakened and she had no doubt that Dean had been awake all night and probably most of the morning as well. Even so, she still couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Dean's odd behavior than simple fatigue.

By the time she returned from the bathroom, wearing a robe and with hair that was at least clean and combed, Dean appeared to have fallen asleep on the bed. He was lying on top of the covers and still wearing his boots though. Buffy decided neither of them were going to be running any marathons today, so she may as well get nice and comfy. She slipped in beside Dean and lay her head on his chest, thinking maybe some forced closeness would bring him out of his shell. When he immediately jerked awake, she felt a little guilty for startling him. She sometimes forgot that he was constantly on-guard in a way that she wasn't. She suspected it had to do with the fact that he didn't have mystically-enhanced senses and had to rely on his own hyper-vigilance to keep track of threats. That, she decided, would seriously suck.

"Sorry," she said as she leaned up to look at him. "Didn't mean to startle you."

Dean gazed back at her for a second with an expression that Buffy could only call 'confusion'.

"No… it's fine," he said as he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her against his chest once more. "You still feeling okay?"

"I'm good," she replied cheerfully. "Just kinda lazy. Personally, I plan on doing very little with a big fat side of practically nothing."

Dean tightened his grip on her, squeezing her tightly for a moment. "Works for me," he remarked sleepily.

Buffy smiled and snuggled in closer to him, deciding maybe he'd been acting weird because he'd just been really worried about her. Apparently she had been in pretty rough shape, especially considering that she didn't even remember anything that happened past 7pm the day before. Dean must have thought she was dying and it had freaked him out. The idea made her very happy, which was probably kind of mean. It wasn't that she liked freaking him out, but the fact that he did freak out told her that he must have some deeper feelings for her. At times like this, she felt like they were just a normal couple enjoying one another's company.

Buffy had almost fallen back asleep when a noise in the distance caught her attention. It was a familiar sound, but yet it seemed out of place. It took her a few moments to recognize what it was and by that point the sound had become noticeably closer.

"Dean," she said as she sat up and lightly shook him by the shoulders. "Dean! Wake up. Do you hear that?"

He opened his eyes, groaning a little in protest. "What? I don't hear anything," he mumbled.

"Give it a few seconds," she said. "It's getting closer."

Dean shut his eyes and she was about to shake him again when he said sleepily, "It's just a helicopter." A half-second later he was sitting upright and fully alert. "That's a freakin' helicopter!" he repeated urgently. "What the hell is up with that?"

"Don't know," Buffy shrugged. "But I kinda thought it didn't seem normal."

Dean jumped up and hurried to the window. "Hell no, it ain't normal! Not anymore."

XXXXXXXXXX

Once it became obvious that not one, but two helicopters, were heading toward the center of town, Dean knew he had to go check out the situation. He'd been torn on whether Buffy should come along. He didn't want her going after she'd been so sick, but he also didn't want to leave her here by herself when he didn't know what the hell was going on. In the end, she was determined to go and that settled it. Dean wasn't a complete idiot, he knew that Buffy pretty much did what Buffy wanted to do these days, although he wasn't quite sure how and when that change had occurred. She reminded him of Sam in that way. His brother used to humor him and grudgingly follow his orders as long as it suited him, but the minute that boy got a different idea in his head, you may as well go argue with a rock. Actually, you'd probably get further with a rock, since they didn't tend to argue back.

As soon as Dean pulled his truck into town (damn he missed his baby) he saw two black, military-grade helicopters parked in the middle of the small main street. Almost everyone in town was standing around the sidewalks or in the middle of the road. Some were talking excitedly and others looked decidedly nervous. Dean was with the latter group and it seemed that Buffy felt the same.

"Don't know about you, but I'm not feeling the warm and fuzzies," she remarked with a frown as they walked toward the Baptist Church that served as the town's meeting place. The building seemed to be the focal point of the crowd, so it was the logical place to go.

"Yeah, no shit," he agreed. "Monsters I can deal with, but crazy-ass people are a whole other story… especially crazy-ass people who ride in creepy, black-ops choppers."

Buffy opened her mouth to reply, but stopped as she looked up ahead. Joe Carver was coming down the front steps of the church. He was carrying his infant son, who was draped in a blanket and the man didn't look particularly happy.

"Dude, what's up? Dean asked him once they met at the foot of the stairs."

Joe peered around at the curious onlookers who were clearly focused on hearing what he had to say. He cleared his throat and when he spoke it was in a very measured tone. "I was just about to head out your way. Seems there's a new king in town… and sorry man, but it ain't Clint Eastwood." He smiled at the joke, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"Who is it?" Dean asked almost reluctantly.

Joe once again cut his eyes to the people standing around listening. "Watcher's Council," he answered, attempting to sound casual. "They're just –."

"Oh God," Buffy groaned. "You're joking. You mean _the _Watcher's Council_?_ The tweedy guys that watch the Slayers?"

"Sounds about right… And, uh, like I was saying, they're just here to ask some questions. Make sure we're running a tight ship and all…. Seeing as how one of their Slayers is here." Joe ignored Buffy's snort of indignation and shrugged. "It's no big deal," he remarked, although he was obviously lying. "Even brought us a whole buttload of medicines and some fresh food too. They're thowing us a banquet tonight."

"How thoughtful," Buffy huffed sarcastically. She could tell Joe was trying to silently warn her, but she didn't care. If these guys were anything like the Council in her world, they were just a bunch of stuffed-shirt bullies. She wasn't going to bow and scrape before them.

Dean looked back and forth between Buffy and Joe, trying to decide what move to make.

"They're gonna wanna talk to both of you," Joe remarked, making the decision for him. "May as well head on inside. They're waiting for you."

"Fine," Dean replied as he instinctively checked to ensure his gun was still in place at his back.

Joe stepped forward and leaned in close to Dean's ear. "Just be cool," he whispered. "Can't say much now, but I've heard things… So, try and keep your head, man. We're severely outgunned at the moment, plus they got their own Slayer."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean realized the truth of Joe's statement when they stepped through the front doors of the church. Five men in black suits carrying semi-automatic assault rifles were stationed on either side of the door and they clearly weren't the friendly types.

"What can I do for you?" the man who appeared to be the oldest of the group asked.

Buffy smiled tightly and crossed her arms in front of her. "I'm the friendly neighborhood Slayer. Just dropped by to say 'howdy'. I woulda baked a pie, but you didn't give me any notice."

Dean decided that Joe should have directed his warning at Buffy, because she was clearly not in the mood to play nice with these guys and that only kicked his anxiety up a few more notches. She wasn't exactly at the top of her game today, no matter what she might claim.

The man smirked and looked down his nose at her. "Miss Summers, I presume? Why don't you follow Mr. Rhodes here," he said as he held out a hand to indicate the beefy-looking man beside him. "There's someone who wishes to speak with you."

Dean started forward when 'Mr. Rhodes' placed a hand on Buffy's shoulder and began to steer her up the hall, but another one of the armed men stepped in his path and blocked him by putting his gun against his chest.

"Relax, Mr. Winchester," the man who'd been doing all the talking said. "I assure you, we mean her no harm, but I'm afraid you can't go with her just now. Our lead councilman would like to meet with you."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean stood just inside the doorway of a small room that he suspected was once used for Sunday School classes. A middle aged man in a brown suit sat behind a large desk that he was pretty sure didn't actually come equipped with the room. 'Pretentious douche bag' was his immediate first impression. In the corner behind the man stood a good looking brunette who he assumed was probably the Slayer that Joe had warned him about. Buffy was always joking about the 'Mad Maxers' as she called them. It was the title she'd given the anti-social types who roamed the countryside, creating havoc wherever they went… and this girl, he decided, was obviously their queen.

She looked to be around Buffy's age, but that was where any similarities ended. They were complete opposites in fact. This girl had darker coloring and a bustier figure, but what stood out the most was her style of dress. The chick had fully embraced the Mad Max look. In fact, she'd taken it to a whole new level. Buffy would probably get a real kick out of her. She was decked out in tight leather from her black biker boots to her too small bustier. She even wore black nail polish and a spiked dog collar around her neck. If he wasn't so damn stressed-out right now, he would probably be imagining her fighting alongside Buffy or hell… even _with_ Buffy. The horny male part of him had to admit it was a Penthouse worthy fantasy. Kind of like a sexy angel and a sexy demon sort of scenario.

The brunette smirked at him and sneered when he caught her eye. She was definitely rockin' the Mad Max attitude too. Great. Like those types weren't bad enough without the superpowers.

The man in the suit continued scratching away at the pages of a large leather-bound journal that lay on the desk in front of him. He seemed to be deliberately ignoring Dean's presence. Let the head games begin, he thought.

The man finally set the pen aside and stood up. "Mr. Winchester," he said with a British accent and a smile that wasn't quite friendly. "Do have a seat. My name is Quentin Travers. I head up the International Watcher's Council."

"Dean Winchester," he replied as he cautiously took the seat in front of the desk. "But guess you already know that?"

"Yes," he said, continuing to smile stiffly. "I have already spoken with some of the townspeople…. and I will have to congratulate you on the admirable job you've done in securing this place. It's one of the safer communities we've visited. Of course, I'm certain there are things that could be improved upon… which is why we're here. The Council wishes to offer our assistance and support."

"Thanks, but we're good," Dean replied. "Got it covered."

"I'm sure you do," Travers agreed in a condescending tone. "But we have resources you can only dream of and, of course, we have an interest here."

"You mean Buffy?"

"Precisely," Travers confirmed. "The Slayer is and always will be the primary concern of the Council."

"Not this one," Dean said tightly.

The Slayer in the corner huffed a laugh and Travers glanced at her disapprovingly before turning a very patronizing smile on Dean. "Ah yes… it seems there has been some confusion surrounding this particular point. Much of it is our fault, I must admit. We didn't anticipate the sheer numbers of potential Slayers when we activated them. I'm afraid they far outnumbered our current stock of Watchers. Therefore, hunters seemed an adequate, if imperfect solution. After all, we can't have a crop of untrained, incredibly powerful young women running amok, now can we?"

Dean said nothing. Instead, he just stared back at Travers. He didn't like where this conversation was headed and didn't trust himself not to blow his top if he opened his mouth.

"Mr. Winchester… or shall I call you Dean?"

"Whatever."

Travers smirked. "Okay then, _Dean_… Believe me when I say the Council understands that our involvement may come as a surprise to many of you in the hunting community. Unfortunately, due to the current nature of the world, many of our Slayers ended up on the black market and we've been forced to track them all over the globe. However, you should know that we do not intend to needlessly interfere in places where she is being used to fulfill her purpose. The good of humanity comes first."

"Good to know," Dean said sarcastically.

Travers didn't appear ruffled by Dean's attitude. He simply jotted down a few lines in his journal and then continued on with his speech. "We're pleased that this does appear to be the case here. I understand that Miss Summers has been very active in performing her duties. Therefore, we do intend to leave her in her current position… for the foreseeable future, anyway. However, we do expect your full cooperation in instituting any changes that the Council sees fit to suggest."

"Suggest, huh? Sure you don't mean 'order'?"

"If that's how you prefer to phrase things, then yes, 'order' is the appropriate word. Just realize that we are not the enemy here. We are simply doing what is necessary to bring some stability to the world. And now I'm afraid we must move on to a less civilized subject." He paused and cleared his throat before continuing on in a tone of barely disguised disgust. "The Council is not naïve, Dean. We do understand the… shall I say 'nature' of many of these hunter/slayer relationships. It is regrettable, but given the current state of things, we are willing to turn a blind eye to such… improprieties. Obviously, the preservation of mankind takes precedence in all cases. However, the Council will not tolerate hunters who jeopardize the strength and health of the Slayers under their control. These girls are vital to humanity's survival."

Dean was practically vibrating with rage. He'd never wanted to beat a man to death quite this badly. The way he talked about the Slayers was just creepy as hell. It was like they weren't even human. What made it worse was the fact that he'd been told most of the Slayers were much younger than Buffy. Supposedly, many were only fifteen or sixteen years old – little more than children. Yet, this dude seemed to find it merely 'distasteful' that a lot of these little girls were essentially glorified sex slaves.

"Do we understand each other, Mr. Winchester? If you are making use of this girl, do not harm her and for heaven's sake, try not to impregnate her. Although, if you do, the Council does employ the services of some highly skilled physicians and I will expect you to contact us for assistance if such a matter arises."

That was it. Dude was a dead man. Dean didn't even remember moving from his chair, but suddenly found he had a death grip on the Chief Watcher's throat. Luckily for Travers, the goons out front had disarmed him before bringing him in, otherwise he'd have made the bastard eat his gun.

"Faith," the man gasped out through his constricted throat.

In his rage, Dean had completely forgotten about the Mistress of Pain standing in the corner. In the space of less than a second he was lifted by the shoulders and slammed forcefully into the wall behind him. Once again, he wondered why everything wanted to slam him into a wall. You'd think there'd be some variety in the world.

"Careful, pretty boy," the girl said with a wink. "Can't let you strangle my boss. Wouldn't look too good on my resume."

Dean smirked back at the girl. She could most definitely kick his ass, but he wasn't about to show fear or admit to it. Besides, he knew a thing or two about Slayer reflexes. If this chick was half as fast as Buffy, he never would've laid a finger on Travers. She'd let him do it, probably because she knew he was a giant dick.

The girl he now knew as 'Faith' returned his smirk and slammed his back into the wall again, clearly just to emphasize who had the upper hand.

"That will do, Faith," Travers said from behind her. "Perhaps this unpleasant scene wouldn't have been necessary if you had been minding your duties."

Faith let go of Dean's shoulders, smoothed his jacket, and patted him roughly on the cheek before turning to her boss and shrugging casually. "Sorry boss… Won't happen again."

"I should hope not," he remarked in the snobbish tone Dean was growing to despise. He self-consciously smoothed his lapels and sniffed indignantly. Obviously, the man wasn't accustomed to appearing undignified. He looked over at Dean and spoke calmly, but there was a clear undercurrent of rage that belied his civilized tone.

"I should thank you for your outburst, Dean. For now I see the situation for what it truly is… And, for your sake, I hope you will allow me to educate you." Travers stood up and began strolling around the room, acting like he was addressing a lecture hall. "Buffy Summers is not your girlfriend or your wife or whatever else you may choose to consider her. The girl is a weapon. A very powerful and valuable weapon, but a weapon nonetheless. You may find me cruel, but a man in my position must consider the greater good. I simply cannot have a Slayer bound to a hunter if that hunter is incapable of making the hard decisions."

He paused for a moment to see if Dean would attempt to argue before continuing on. "I'm sure you realize that breaking a binding spell is no simple feat. In fact, it requires nothing less than the death of the hunter in question… and I'm not a monster, despite what you may choose to believe. I would not dispose of a hunter unless I felt there was no other alternative. So, I'm placing you on notice Mr. Winchester. If I see that you cannot or will not control your Slayer, or that you are shirking your duties by perhaps hesitating to place her in harm's way… I will be forced to replace you with someone who is more capable of being objective. Have I made myself clear?"

Dean briefly considered trying to snap Travers' neck before Mad Maxine could stop him, but decided that move was way too reckless. He needed some time to think and plan his next move.

"Mr. Winchester," Travers said impatiently. "I am awaiting your answer. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yeah," he forced out through tightly clenched teeth. "I get it…. Don't sweat it. Buffy knows the job and she sure as hell _does_ _her duty_."

Travers smiled back at him smugly. "Then I'm delighted to hear it."

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy wasn't sure what to expect when she was led away by the baby elephant known as 'Mr. Rhodes', but knowing the Council of her world, she assumed there would definitely be some hoops she'd be expected to jump through.

The man, who hadn't gotten any friendlier during their brief stroll, left her just inside the doorway of a small room where she found herself staring at the back of a rather tall man. When he turned to greet her, she nearly passed out from the shock. He wasn't wearing glasses and there was a large, deep scar running from the corner of one eye to the man's chin, but it was still very much the face of Rupert Giles.


	7. Chapter 7

"Giles?"

The name popped out of Buffy's mouth before she could stop herself, but she did manage to hold off on throwing herself into his arms, despite how much a part of her wanted to. She almost forgot that this man wasn't her Watcher and father figure.

He took a drag off the cigarette he was holding and cracked a sardonic half-smile.

"Yes," he replied as he exhaled a puff of smoke. "I am Rupert Giles. I'm surprised that Neanderthal, Rhodes, bothered to tell you that much. I suppose wonders never cease. I'm assuming you are…" he paused to fish out the small notebook he had stored in his shirt pocket. "Ahhh yes," he said as he flipped it open. "Buffy Summers. Quite the interesting name."

A stab of pain went through Buffy's heart. He didn't recognize her. He didn't even know her name. Not that he should, she reminded herself. This man wasn't her Giles. He only looked the same.

"Have a seat Miss Summers," he said as he motioned toward a small wooden chair. "And please try not to look like a frightened rabbit. I assure you, I don't bite."

Buffy quickly took a seat, but didn't say anything. She wasn't scared, she was just majorly freaked. Who could blame her?

Giles sat on the corner of a desk several feet in front of her and Buffy shifted uncomfortably in her seat as he looked her over in a cool, appraising manner.

"Oh bugger!" he exclaimed angrily, causing Buffy to jump in surprise. He'd dropped ash all over his pants and was brushing it away irritably as he continued to curse. In apparent exasperation, he tossed the butt to the floor and crushed it out with the heel of his shoe before returning his attention to her. Apparently Bizarro World Giles was actually Spike. Yay.

"So, Miss Summers," he said once he'd composed himself. "I suppose you are wondering who we are and what we are doing here?"

"You're the Watchers' Council… and you're here to _watch?_" she shrugged. She wasn't sure how much she was supposed to know about the Council in this world, if anything.

"Essentially," he agreed with a nod. "It is a bit more involved than that, however. In the past, it is true that we primarily watched the Slayer, but due to recent events we have taken a more, shall I say… active role. We feel that the Council is uniquely qualified to restore a semblance of order to the world."

Buffy groaned. Next to Al Qaeda or Dick Cheney, the Watchers' Council was just about the last thing she wanted to see controlling the world. She had to work hard not to sound too bitter.

"You mean you've taken over?" she asked with more sarcasm than she'd intended.

Giles didn't seem offended by her tone, however. Mostly, he just seemed bored. "Yes, in a manner of speaking," he replied casually. "My job is to find out as much as I can about the Slayers who have been activated. So, I'll be asking you a few questions." He pulled out a pen and flipped his little notebook back open. "Why don't we proceed? Where are you from, Miss Summers?" he asked curiously.

"Ummm… Los Angeles?" It wasn't a lie. She technically was born in L.A., just on another planet.

"Are you certain?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. "You seem unsure."

"No, no… I'm sure. _Really, really sure_. California girl here." Huge mental face-palm. God she sounded like an idiot.

Giles appeared to agree with her personal assessment, because he rolled his eyes before speaking again. "And do you know how old you are?" he asked sarcastically.

"Twenty," she answered with more certainty. "I'll be twenty-one in January. So, it'll be legal for me to drink soon. We're planning a huge party with a keg and everything," she joked, hoping to crack Giles' stern façade. It didn't work.

"Wonderful," he remarked dryly. "Now, I realize the fairer sex is often sensitive concerning such matters, but you do realize that you are rather old? … For a Slayer, I mean," he added off of Buffy's confused expression. "I'm not aware of anyone over the age of seventeen being activated in this crisis. In fact, most are closer to fifteen. We do have one Slayer who is quite near to your age. However, she was called well before the world fell apart. You could say she was the last official 'Chosen One'."

"Oh," Buffy said. She wasn't sure what to say, because she didn't really feel like sharing her dimension-hopping story with imposter-Giles. "I… uh… dunno," she shrugged. "I haven't really been kept in the loop."

"I don't imagine you have," he remarked as he continued to scribble in his notebook. "However, you must admit that is a bit odd. Though, I do suppose it's possible 'The Powers' had a reason for calling you despite your advanced age."

Buffy huffed in protest at that crack, but Giles ignored her. Then he proceeded to launch into a long and very detailed grilling about the details of her Slaying duties. How often did she patrol? What was her weapon of choice? What types of monsters did she typically encounter? What was the average number of civilian deaths per month? And on and on and on…. Buffy felt like she was being interviewed for the job of Slayer and wondered what would happen if Giles decided she'd flunked the interview.

"Everything appears to be in order," he finally said after what felt like a thousand years. "I'm not sure I approve of the overreliance on firearms, but that does seem to be common wherever hunters are involved," he remarked with undisguised scorn. "Sadly, I'm starting to see that as a losing battle."

"Yep," Buffy agreed, "I prefer a good ole wooden stake myself."

Once again, she felt like an idiot when Giles looked at her like she had three heads. Wooden stakes weren't good for much in the way of killing monsters in this world.

"Or… a k-knife," she stammered quickly. "I like a big, sharp, stabby knife. Much better than a gun… much, much better…" she trailed off lamely, wondering if Dean's 'interview' was going this well.

Giles smirked at her. "Yes, well, good for you then. Now, Miss Summers, I would like to test your combat skills. Unfortunately, the Council does not have the manpower to thoroughly train each and every Slayer, but we can often provide some instruction on improving your existing skill set. Are you up to some sparring?" he asked.

"Absolutely," Buffy said confidently. "Consider this girl raring and ready to go."

But, internally, she was thinking 'hell no'. She wasn't really 'up to some sparring' today. Mostly she was tired, achy, and up for some lying around in bed or maybe some ambitious vegging on the couch. After all, she had almost died the night before. However, she realized that wasn't actually a question and she also realized that showing weakness to the Council was the equivalent of being a wounded animal in the midst of wolves. The entire organization was based on power and control. Dean was definitely going to hate them, because that was one man who liked to think he was in charge. She just hoped he didn't get himself into too much trouble.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Well, look at the time," Faith interrupted. "Gotta go boss. Rupe will be expecting me."

Quentin Travers had been giving a long and boring lecture on the sacred responsibility of the Council and appeared to be irritated at being cut off mid-sentence, but he also didn't appear surprised. This Faith chick apparently liked to push the envelope. In fact, Dean's back still ached from her 'pushing' skills, but he had to respect that trait. Anything that annoyed this prick was golden in his book.

On Faith's exit, Travers began to ramp back up into full-on speech mode, but was interrupted once again by a knock at the door. Dean would have felt relieved if it hadn't been for the devious smirk that crossed Travers' features. Something was behind that door that Dean wasn't going to like. He just knew it.

His suspicion was confirmed when two armed men entered the room, each of them holding the clearly horrified town drunk by an arm. Dean immediately realized that neither of the armed men were one of the five he'd seen earlier and began to wonder just how many of these guys there were.

"What the hell is going on here?" he demanded.

The taller of the two guards briefly glanced at Dean before turning his attention to Travers.

"Mr. Travers, we caught this man trying to break into the medical supplies we brought for the town."

Shit. Dean should have expected this when Joe told him the Council had brought medicine. The town drunk, also known as Eric Fleenor, was an ex-pillhead and the only reason he was an 'ex' was because his supplies had run dry. The man was around his age, but he'd spent so much time doing drugs and not eating right that he looked a good ten years older. Dean ought to have known he wouldn't be able to withstand the temptation of a possible new supply of painkillers. He should have put a guard on the stuff, but he'd been so overwhelmed by the Council's unforeseen arrival. Now he wondered what his oversight would cost. A sinking feeling settled in his stomach as he anticipated Travers' next move.

"That's a shame," Travers replied, although Dean could swear he heard a note of glee in his tone. "The Council takes this sort of action very seriously," he remarked as he looked him in the eye. "If humanity is to prevail, we must stand together. We cannot tolerate individuals who place their own desires and vices above that of the community."

"Dean, I'm sorry man," Eric said, his voice sounding very close to panic. "My back hurts," he whined. "I just needed some relief. I wasn't thinkin'. Dude! I was only gonna take one or two…"

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes at the guy. He was basically harmless, but like any junkie, it was nearly impossible to believe a word the dude said. He seriously doubted there was any actual pain involved here.

"I'll take care of it," Dean said as he returned his gaze to Travers. "It won't happen again. As long as those pills are locked up, your men can let him go. I'll handle it later."

Travers raised an eyebrow. "And just how do you plan to 'handle it', might I ask?"

"Honestly, I plan to kick his stupid ass," he replied flatly. Eric started to whine in protest, but Dean shot him a look that shut him right up.

Travers smiled coldly and the sinking feeling in Dean's stomach was now accompanied by a racing pulse. This son of a bitch was cold and he was planning something.

"Mr. Winchester," he began in a patronizing tone. "If your method of keeping order actually worked, we wouldn't be faced with this unfortunate situation. I'm afraid we must take a more severe approach."

Eric began struggling against the men who still held him by the arms. "Severe? What do you mean? _Dean!_ Man, do something about this!"

"Dude, shut it," Dean snapped. "I'm handling this… What do you mean by a 'more severe approach'?" he asked Travers.

"As I was saying," he began calmly, "we cannot tolerate individuals who place their own desires above the community's. I'm afraid that as much as I dislike it… this man must pay with his life."

"What?" Dean and Eric bellowed almost simultaneously.

"Dude, what the hell?" Dean continued incredulously, he had to practically yell to be heard over Eric's frantic begging and sobbing. "Are you fucking serious? You want to execute this poor guy for trying to take a few pills? He's never hurt anybody. The guy's a human being for God's sake! You do realize how batshit this is?"

Travers didn't seem upset by the outburst in the least. In fact, Dean was pretty sure he was enjoying every minute of it.

"I can understand that you believe our approach to be harsh," he replied. "But I assure you, it is for the greater good. And," he added before taking a dramatic pause, "we find this sort of punishment has more impact if it is carried out by the Council's local representative. We will expect the Slayer to carry out our judgment… in public, of course. I am certain you will ensure her cooperation."

XXXXXXXXXX

Giles led Buffy to a small building beside the church that used to be called the 'Family Life Center'. According to Noah, it had essentially served as a meeting place for church dinners, wedding receptions, and stuff like that. It also doubled as a gymnasium and had basketball goals attached to each of the far walls. Buffy was guessing this was where she was to show off her skills, especially since the long rows of tables had been folded up and placed against the walls, leaving the middle of the room bare.

She rolled her shoulders and popped her neck in preparation for Giles' attack. Unless this version had different moves, she should have no problems, even if she still didn't feel 100%. As she waited for him to proceed, she heard the door swing open, making a loud thud against the wall behind it. She turned to see who or what had entered and her jaw dropped open when she came face-to-face with another huge shocker.

It was Faith. Even worse than that… it was Mad Max Faith. Good Lord! Was she actually wearing a dog collar? Was this even happening?

"Well, well, well," the brunette said with a sly smile. "This one's cute, ain't she Rupe? Like a pretty little Barbie Doll. I always wanted one like her… Too bad mom spent all her money on booze." She turned her eyes away from Giles and regarded Buffy with a mischievous smile. "Wanna play, Barbie? I'll let you take the first swing. Don't worry," she added as she licked her lips. "I won't hurt you too bad."

"Faith," Giles said dryly, although he sounded a bit amused. "Don't frighten the poor girl. Remember, she hasn't had the benefit of your training. You're only here to help me evaluate her skill level."

Buffy still hadn't found her voice yet. The scene was too surreal. She struggled to think of a nice quippy retort, but was halted by the horrifying scene in front of her. Oh God, she was never going to be the same.

Faith had strolled up to Giles (apparently she strutted in this world too), winked, told him not to worry… and then… then she kissed him, and Buffy was pretty sure tongue was involved too. But that wasn't even the worst part of it. That happened when she reached between his legs and cupped his… whatever it was Giles kept down there and gave it a good squeeze.

"_Oh God,"_ she groaned involuntarily.

"Faith," Giles admonished with a smirk and a leer. Buffy was pretty sure it was a leer anyway. It was hard to be sure, because she'd never seen that particular expression on that face before.

"This isn't the proper time or place," he remarked with a barely concealed grin.

"What's wrong Barbie?" Faith asked. "Or maybe I'll just call you B… You can drop the sweet and innocent act, princess. Cuz there's no way I'm buyin'. You been playin' hide the salami with that beefcake hunter of yours. Don't tell me you haven't."

Buffy sneered back at Faith as she finally found her voice. "We don't generally have sex in public," she said snidely, crossing her arms in front of her. "Maybe you should consider that policy yourself? Cause trust me… nobody wants to see _that_."

The other girl laughed and popped her knuckles loudly. "Oooh, this one's got attitude. More fun for me."

Faith rounded on her and Buffy straightened her back as she anticipated the Slayer's first move. She didn't make one though. Instead, she just postured and invaded her personal space. Clearly, she was trying to intimidate her. Same old Faith, Buffy decided. So, since Faith's eyes were busy watching her fists, she decided to sweep her legs out from under her with a swift kick.

Faith landed on her ass and Buffy allowed herself a satisfied smirk when the other girl stared back at her in complete and utter disbelief. Apparently she wasn't used to Slayers putting up a good fight. Too bad she wasn't completely herself today. She'd love to show a few new tricks to this even cockier version of Faith. As it was, Buffy feared she'd have her hands full just trying to keep up.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean pleaded Eric's case until he was blue in the face. He'd hoped that the man's valuable skillset might spare him, but Travers was unmoved.

In his previous life, Eric Fleenor had created and installed ornate cast iron fencing, mostly around rich people's houses (when he was sober enough to, anyway). It was an art really and one that had undoubtedly saved many lives.

Before Eric wandered into town, Dean and some of the other survivors had erected a large chain link fence around the town, complete with barbed wire along the top. One day Dean was messing around with some decorative iron fencing he'd salvaged. He decided it would be a good secondary line of defense since most monsters seemed to have an iron allergy. Eric had been halfway sober that day and volunteered his services. Dean was damn glad he had, because the guy could do amazing things with iron. Not only did they get a sturdy secondary fence, they also got one that was decorated with every occult protection symbol Dean could think of. It was beautiful and very, very effective. As long as you stayed inside the gates, you were almost perfectly safe. He doubted that many other towns could make that claim.

Mister Greater Good didn't give a shit though. In fact, he probably wouldn't have cared if Eric was the Goddamn Pope. The guy was determined to have his public show and Dean finally had to concede defeat, especially once he realized the town had brought a dozen armed goons with them and a witch. Not Glenda the Good Witch either. This bitch was friggin scary. All she needed was a pointy hat and a wart on her nose and she'd be set.

Under any other circumstances, Dean would have made them kill him too, just on principal. To hell with them and their bullshit, he wasn't afraid to die again. But, he couldn't let them do this to Buffy. He knew she'd never taken a human life before, and she shouldn't have to. That wasn't her job. Besides, he knew Buffy had a soft spot for that poor, goofy son of a bitch. He was a likeable drunk and he always made a point to throw the charm on her. There was no way he'd let her carry that kind of guilt around. So, God forgive him, he'd switched from trying to save Eric's life to trying to convince Travers to let him be the one to kill him. It took some serious convincing too, because the bastard was determined to have things done his way, but Dean finally found the right argument. All he had to do was stoop to the Council's level, which wasn't hard considering what he'd done in hell.

"You don't want the town to think some little blond chick is in charge, do you?" he'd asked. "Don't you think it'd make more sense if I did the deed? After all, I'm supposed to be the big chief here… She's supposed to answer to me. Come on dude, think about it. It's a win-win," he'd argued. "You get to show everybody that the Council is serious and I get to show everybody, _especially Buffy_, that I'm the one that represents you around here. No way she or anyone else steps out of line after this goes down."

XXXXXXXXXX

By the time Giles called Faith off of her, Buffy was beyond done. Not that she'd admit it. She'd die first. Despite her weakened state, she had managed to bust Faith's lip and get a few other good blows in too. Predictably, that had infuriated Faith and she'd gone way past the point of sparring and proceeded to try and beat her into unconsciousness (or worse). Giles had had to resort to yelling and issuing threats in order to break Faith's concentration. She was like a rabid pitbull.

Buffy sat on the floor and stared defiantly at both Faith and Giles. There was blood running into one eye, but she didn't even try to wipe it away. Faith might have beat her this time, but just let her get a day's rest and a good night's sleep. She'd put the other Faith in a coma and she could do it to this one too. She was damn sure of it.

Giles walked over and offered her a hand-up, but Buffy declined and pushed herself to her feet instead. This most definitely was not her Giles, so he could kiss her ass. He didn't appear insulted though, actually he smiled at her.

"Good show, Miss Summers. I must say I am impressed. If I didn't know better, I'd swear I trained you myself. Surely you didn't learn all of this from a hunter. Their lot tends to specialize in bar room brawling."

"Oh, I don't know," Buffy shrugged. "I'm pretty sure Dean could kick your ass."

"You think so," he remarked with a grin. "Perhaps I'll test that theory."

Buffy just gritted her teeth and stared back mutely. She really shouldn't drag Dean into this mess. He was probably already in deep enough as it was.

"Well then," he shrugged as he lit another smoke. "I suppose you had best clean yourself up a bit. You'll need to be halfway presentable for the big show."

Buffy didn't know what he was talking about, but noted that he and Faith exchanged glances and neither looked exactly happy. That probably wasn't a good thing.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy ended up having to close the wound over her left eye with a butterfly bandage. Anyone else would need stitches, but she healed quickly. Her eye was beginning to swell shut and she also had a large lump across her cheekbone. The stupid bitch had been determined to go for her face and that just made Buffy itch for a rematch. Next time, Faith was going down and hard. She'd be lucky if she only ended up in a coma.

When she finally emerged from the church's bathroom, Giles and Faith escorted her to a room where she received her third huge shock of the day. By this point, she seriously wondered if she wasn't still trapped inside of a monster-poison induced nightmare, because everything that followed was simply too horrible to possibly be real.

When she walked in, two more of the Men in Black were standing at the back of the room looking all stiff, and behind a large desk sat one of the few people she'd ever actively despised. Quentin Travers, chief bully and pompous-ass-in-charge was sitting right in front of her. It was unbelievable. She'd take Imposter Giles and Mad Max Faith any day.

Dean was there too and she was so relieved. Buffy hadn't seen him since they'd arrived in town and she'd been so worried, but had been afraid to ask about him. She didn't want Giles or Faith to think she was intimidated. She knew their game too well.

Dean's eyes got huge when he took in her battered face. He jumped up from his seat and, for a moment, she thought he was going to come to her. She so badly wanted to be in his arms right now, even if the Council was watching.

"What – The - Fuck?" Dean snapped angrily as he turned back to Quentin Travers.

"Relax, Mr. Winchester," he said with an exasperated sigh. "I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this. Isn't there, Rupert?" he asked, while appraising the other man critically.

Giles didn't back down in front of his boss. He just stood calmly and replied with, "The sparring session got a bit out of hand, I'm afraid. Miss Summers has a rather extraordinary amount of skill. I'm afraid our Faith took it personally."

"Sorry boss," Faith said when Travers turned a glare on her. "Jeez," she shrugged defensively. "Give me a break… She'll heal. It's not like I killed her or anything."

"_Faith,"_ he began coldly, but Dean interrupted and turned his anger on the brunette Slayer instead.

"What the hell, bitch? She's supposed to protect this town. Look at her! It'll be days before she's worth a crap! How am I supposed to do my job with half a Slayer? This is bullshit!" he raged as he turned back to Quentin. "What kind of circus are you running, Travers?"

Buffy couldn't believe her ears. That's what he was so upset about? The fact that she might not be up to patrolling? She'd expected any number of reactions from Dean, but this wasn't one of them. She'd rather take a thousand beatings from Faith than hear something that cold coming out of his mouth. Her head was spinning so fast that she barely heard the argument going on around her as Faith tried to defend herself and Quentin angrily shouted them both down. Everything that came after was a surreal and nightmarish blur.

XXXXXXXXXX

They were led outside to the street where every single man, woman, and child in the town was assembled. A large space had been cleared out in the middle of the crowd and every eye seemed to be focused on the side of a brick building that stood across the road. Even with one eye swelled shut, she immediately recognized the scruffy, skinny form of Eric Fleenor cowering against the wall. He was a former drug addict turned town drunk, but he was also the first adult, aside from Dean, who had treated her like something other than a freak of nature when she first came to the town. She kind of loved him for that.

Two more of the armed men stood on either side of him and he was obviously terrified. Buffy had no idea what was happening, but she knew it had to be horrible. She tried desperately to catch Dean's eyes, but he wouldn't even look at her.

Buffy heard the hum of a generator and noticed that a podium had been setup, complete with microphone and PA system. Quentin Travers stepped up behind it. He was flanked on all sides by armed men in black suits. He stared out at the crowd until everyone quieted. It was like he was the President or something. Buffy half expected to hear _Hail to the Chief_ playing across the loudspeakers. And once he started speaking, he even sounded like a politician. He went on and on about the triumph of mankind over adversity and many in the crowd were actually cheering him on. What was wrong with everybody?

Finally, he got to the point or the 'very sad and unfortunate occasion' as he called it. But, strangely, he didn't seem very sad about it. At first Buffy thought she had to be hearing things. They were actually going to execute Eric Fleenor. EXECUTE as in, kill him. All because he'd supposedly tried to break into some drugs the Council had 'generously donated' to the town. Knowing Eric, it was probably true, but still. The punishment far outweighed the crime.

A few gasps of horror and some murmuring went through the crowd when Quentin made the announcement, but once again there was also a sizable cheering section. Buffy picked out some very familiar faces in that group too. People she was friendly with. People she thought were nice, regular, decent, 'salt of the earth' types. It was like half the town had been replaced by their evil twin. But the worst thing was Dean. When he drew his pistol from his waistband and stepped in front of the crowd, the full horror of the situation dawned on her. He was the executioner.

"Dean," she gasped out.

He turned to look at her and when she started to open her mouth again, he was in front of her in a flash. He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders and stared down at her coldly.

"Don't make a scene Buffy," he said through gritted teeth. She had to strain to even hear what he was saying. "Just don't. There's not a damn thing you can do."

"Dean, you can't do this!" she pleaded desperately. "You know this isn't right." She was aware of everyone's eyes on her and part of her realized there was nothing she could do and that she was probably placing herself in danger, but she couldn't just stand here and watch. Somebody had to try.

One of the dozen or so armed guards stepped forward, almost as if he'd expected this and handed a pair of handcuffs to Dean. He accepted them without a flicker of emotion and mumbled a few words over them in Latin. One of her hands was cuffed before she realized what was going on and tried to fight him. There was no point in it though. Her hands were quickly cuffed behind her and then she was shoved backwards into Faith, who held her arms in a painful, vice-like grip.

She leaned in close to her ear and whispered coldly, "You better chill or lover boy's a dead man."

Buffy didn't say anything else. Mostly, because she couldn't believe what was happening right in front of her eyes. Part of her brain refused to believe that any of this was real. It couldn't be. The man she loved was like a stranger to her. He was like ice. There was no compassion, no anger, no sadness, no nothing. There wasn't a trace of human emotion anywhere on his features.

The sound of Quentin Travers pronouncing final judgment and the roars of approval from the crowd all seemed very far away. All Buffy could hear was the pounding of her own heart and the blood rushing through her body as Dean lifted the pistol and pointed it at the sobbing and terrified man. She barely even registered the boom of his gun as it went off, but Eric's body crumpled forward all the same and lay still under an expanding pool of blood.


	8. Chapter 8

Once the nightmare of the execution was over, Dean hoped the Council would be finished showing off for the day, but he'd completely forgotten about the 'banquet' Joe had mentioned earlier. You'd think something as horrible as killing a man would at least be grounds for a rain delay, but no such luck. Apparently, that was just an appetizer for these assholes, because they were going full-speed ahead, and had laid out a spread that hadn't been seen since the days of all-you-can-eat buffets. Dean was one man who loved overindulging in food, but this was obscene even by his admittedly low standards.

There were several cows' worth of steaks, along with fried chicken, roasted chicken, grilled chicken, hamburgers, sausages, and every side dish and dessert imaginable. Plus, they had several whole pigs roasting on spits and who knew how many kegs of beer there were - _actual beer too_. Dean hadn't had a decent beer in ages. Everything had gone flat or skunky by this point. He'd given up on even trying to drink any of the beer he might find. It was just too damn disappointing. Yesterday, he probably would have given his left nut for a good beer and a burger, and now the entire idea just made him sick to his stomach. But, he had to keep playing along, because that bastard Travers was watching him like a hawk, just waiting for him to screw up. Dean had never felt quite so powerless before. He didn't know what to do and wasn't sure how much longer he could hold up to this level of scrutiny, especially considering the way Buffy looked right now.

She hadn't said a word to him since the shooting. Actually, he didn't know if she'd said a word period. At the moment, she was just sitting by herself at one of the long tables in the church's reception hall. He'd tried to get her to get up and come get something to eat with him. He wasn't hungry, but neither of them had eaten since lunch the day before and, besides, they had to keep up appearances. At least until he could figure out what the fuck to do about all of this. She'd ignored him though, and he didn't have the heart to force her. She'd been beat all to hell, surely that was excuse enough if any of those shitheads from the Council felt the need to ask why she wasn't just thrilled to be here. Even though he was kind of worried about her being dehydrated, he didn't want Travers' coldhearted ass to think he was babying the 'weapon'. Those sorts of shenanigans might call for another execution or, at the very least, a public flogging. He stood in the line, stewing in helpless frustration until he noticed Noah standing closer to the front and got an idea. He joined him, doubting anybody was going to call out the murderer for skipping line.

"Hey," he said as he grasped the boy by the shoulder. He probably should have expected it, but was caught off guard when Noah practically jumped out of his skin and turned huge, terrified eyes on him. His mother, who was standing beside him, looked like she was torn between pure panic and tearing into Dean like an angry mother bear protecting her cub. Fucking perfect. Now he terrified women and children.

He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I need you to do me a favor," he said to Noah. He made a conscious effort not to make it sound like an order, which he realized tended to be his normal mode of communication the kid. But, Noah just continued to gape at him with a slack-jawed stare, so his mother spoke up for him.

"What can we do for you, Dean?" she asked in a clipped tone.

"Make Buffy a plate," he asked as he glanced over to where she was sitting. "And grab her a couple bottles of water too."

"What does she like?" Noah asked. "They got fried chicken."

Dean cracked a small smile. At least some things were still predictable. He knew the kid couldn't keep his mouth shut for too long. He liked to talk too much. The boy would probably chat up the devil if he was the only one around to listen.

"Give her whatever you think looks good. Honestly doubt she'll eat any of it, anyway," he added in a low voice. "Just make sure she gets the water, 'kay?"

"Okay," Noah agreed.

He looked like he might say more, but his mother put her arm around his shoulders and turned him face-forward. Obviously, the lady didn't want her only son getting too cozy with the local firing squad. Then she smiled at Dean, but it wasn't a friendly smile. It was the kind of wary smile you use when a crazy person with a loaded gun is standing right in front of you.

"We'll take care of it," she assured him with a nod and then turned away herself.

XXXXXXXXXX

It had been a while since Buffy had excused herself to go to the bathroom and Dean was starting to get a little anxious, wondering if she was okay. He'd tried to keep an eye on the door, but had to split his attention with Travers, who loved having a captive audience to listen to his bullshit. The dude was in a great mood. Apparently cold blooded murder really did it for him. He was in the middle of some longwinded sermon on conditions in Europe when Dean decided enough was enough.

"Uh sorry," he said, doing his best to force an apologetic smile onto his face. "I better go see where my Slayer got off to. Been a while, ya know?"

Travers looked momentarily annoyed, but then smiled graciously and nodded. "Of course. I mustn't keep you from your duties. These young ladies can be quite the handful."

On his way towards the bathrooms, Dean thought of all the inventive ways he could kill that man. He'd almost rather spend an evening with Crowley, or even with one of the douchier angels he'd met. At least then he could be upfront with his hatred. He wasn't cut out to play these stupid-ass games. Sam had been the diplomat in the family. Dean had always preferred a more direct approach.

He saw a young blond woman coming out of the ladies restroom and grabbed her by the elbow. Her name was Lori or Laura or Lainey or something like that - hell if he remembered. He couldn't keep up with everybody's name.

"Hey," he said, finding himself less surprised this time when he was regarded with obvious fear.

"H - Hey," she stammered back nervously.

"Is Buffy in there?"

"No. Nobody's in there."

"You sure?" he asked urgently.

"Yeah? I mean umm… I can go check again if you want me to."

"Nevermind," he said as he let go of her arm. He told her "thanks", but she probably didn't hear him in her hurry to get the hell away. Being a social pariah completely sucked ass. Of course, he guessed he shouldn't complain. It was better than what Eric Fleenor got. Now Dean had a new sin to add to his growing pile of guilt.

He scanned the room anxiously, trying to catch a glimpse of Buffy, but she was nowhere to be found. She'd slipped out. Damn. Now he was officially freaked. As upset as she was, she might try to make a break for it, and in her condition, she wouldn't last outside the gates for very long. He had to find her.

He slipped out the side door and into the cold, early December night. He called her name a few times, but realized that was pointless. It wasn't like she'd answer him back.

Joe met him as he walked around the front of the building and drew him aside.

"She's across the street," he said in a low voice. "She's just sitting on the front porch of the old drugstore. Thought I better keep an eye on her, since you were busy playing host."

"Dude, I -," Dean began defensively, but Joe cut him off.

"It's okay, man. I get it. I told you I'd heard things about these guys. Just don't expect a warm reception from the rest of the folks around here."

"Yeah, kinda figured that out. With all the cheering that went on during the show, I half thought I'd be the town hero," he said bitterly. "Guess they changed their minds once the excitement wore off. Fine with me, cause I think I'd punch the first jackass who patted me on the back."

Joe shook his head and frowned. "Sorry dude, but that ain't why everybody's pissed. A few maybe… but most have a bug up their ass about the way Buffy looks right now. Killing a junkie and a drunk is one thing, beating up the cute little blond girl is another. People are deep like that," he added with a smirk.

Dean just stared back in shock. He hadn't thought of that. No wonder he was the town leper. He was a murderer and a woman basher.

"I'm telling people you didn't do it," Joe added. "I'm right aren't I?"

"Jesus Christ! You think I'd do that?"

"No, but it's been a strange day. We can all do some pretty fucked up things when our back's against a wall…"

Dean couldn't argue with that. After all, they had both sold their souls to a crossroads' demon, and a couple hours earlier, he'd killed an innocent man in cold blood. People could do some really fucked up things.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy was sitting on the front porch of what was once Wilson's Pharmacy. It was an old building that had been renovated somewhere along the line, probably to cater to those who were nostalgic for the old-timey hometown drugstores that featured lunch counters and soda fountains. She was sitting on the edge with her elbows resting on the railing and her legs dangling over the side. She saw Dean coming and glanced up, but didn't say anything.

The porch was about waist high on Dean, so he was able to stand between her legs. He placed his hands on the outside of her thighs and rubbed lightly. She'd been crying and it was killing him.

"I didn't know where you were," he said simply, not knowing what else to say.

"Sorry," she replied sarcastically. "I know how you like to keep all your weapons organized."

"Buffy, you know it's not like that. I –"

"I don't know anything," she said flatly. "I don't even know you. Just please stop touching me."

Dean removed his hands and stepped back like he'd been burned. He could take everyone else being pissed at him, but Buffy was a different story.

"You need to come back inside," he said. "It's freezing out here."

"Yeah and we wouldn't want _The Council_ to think you can't control me."

Buffy hitched a sob and Dean decided at that moment, he would rather be dead.

"Does it mean that much to you, Dean? Do you really want to be in control _this_ badly? That man is evil! I know Quentin Travers. Believe me, my world's version wasn't much better. And Faith and Giles… I know them too and they…" she trailed off. She was crying so hard she could no longer speak.

He just stood where he was, unsure of what his next move should be and also a little shocked that she knew the Council people's doubles. He had no idea what to say to comfort her. A crying woman was one of the few things that frightened him. He always felt completely helpless, unless there was something nearby he could kill. But he had no idea how to fix this, especially since he was the cause of her misery. He doubted there was much he could say that would make a difference to her.

"Just give me a minute," Buffy said when she'd managed to gain a little control over herself. "I'll come back inside. Okay? I just need a few minutes alone. Can you at least give me that?"

"Yeah," he agreed quietly. He reached a hand out to touch her, but hesitated. "Buffy, baby, just please don't cry. I promise, I'm not trying to –"

"Dean, _please go_. I can't deal with you right now."

"Okay… I'll uh… be inside," he finished lamely.

XXXXXXXXXX

"Did you find our missing Slayer?" Travers asked with a raised brow.

Dean took a deep breath. He'd been to hell before and this wasn't much better.

"She's just getting some fresh air," he said, in what he hoped was a neutral tone. "She'll be back in a few minutes."

"Does she take off like this a lot?" he questioned.

"No. She's just not feeling too hot. Her face is all busted up and she almost died last night when this freak of nature we were hunting scratched her."

The other Watcher - Dean was pretty sure his name was Giles – looked up curiously when he spoke.

"Something scratched her, you say? What was it?"

Dean shrugged. "Don't know. Never seen one before. It was ugly as hell. Looked kinda like a wendigo, except it smelled even worse and had some big-ass claws. All I know is the thing's poisonous… Killed one of the local kids yesterday."

"Bullshit!"

That had come from Faith, the Mistress of Pain herself. Dean crinkled his brow and looked back at her. What the hell was this about?

"Bloody hell," Giles remarked in what sounded like awe. "That's extraordinary… You do realize that no one, not even a Slayer, has ever survived being poisoned by the Valde Morbus. You're telling me this thing scratched her and she lived to tell about it?"

"I don't know about a… 'Valde Whatever'," he replied with a wave of his hand. "But yeah, she was scratched by something nasty. She was sick as hell. Thought her brains were gonna cook."

Giles looked excited and Faith looked… well, she actually looked kind of guilty. That was something Dean hadn't expected.

"The 'Valde Morbus' is an ancient breed of monster," the Watcher explained. "They haven't been seen on earth in thousands of years. We had to dig deep in the Council's archives to even find mention of the creature. It's another of the great mysteries of our time. We can't figure out how in the bleeding hell all of these extinct monsters have managed to resurface."

"I heard an angel with a God complex tried to crack the lock on Purgatory," Dean remarked with a shrug. "Didn't go to well… It was your classic clusterfuck."

Quentin Travers laughed. The bastard had drunk several glasses of wine and seemed to find this theory particularly hilarious.

"The hunters' grapevine does generate some fascinating theories," he chuckled. "And many of them are so entertaining."

"Yeah, it was hilarious," Dean agreed with a forced smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean woke up to Buffy's pointy little elbow jabbing him in the ribs. It was fairly chilly in the house that morning and she was clearly trying to use him for warmth again. He rearranged her into a more comfortable position against him and smiled when he thought about how warm she'd be after he took care of his morning hard on. He was still half-asleep though and started to drift off again. Then it all came flooding back. The nightmare that was yesterday slammed into his consciousness like a freight train, ensuring he wouldn't be getting any more sleep.

He leaned up and looked at Buffy. She was lying on her right side, so he could see the eye that had been swollen shut. It looked almost normal. The skin was just a little yellow and there was a faint scab where the cut above her eye had closed. Otherwise, you wouldn't know she'd recently taken a pretty bad beating. The medicine the Council guy had given her had definitely worked.

Around the time everyone had begun clearing out the evening before, the Watcher named Giles had walked up behind Buffy and stuck a needle in the back of her neck before either of them could react. He came in on her blind side, or else Dean was sure he'd have ended up on his ass. As it was, she gasped, looked around wildly for a couple seconds and then passed out cold. He'd had to catch her so that she didn't fall backwards and crack her head open. It was a good thing Quentin Travers had 'retired for the evening' just moments before, because he'd gone straight for the other Watcher's throat. He'd planned to severely beat his ass or maybe even kill the guy. But Faith was faster on the draw that time, and quickly stepped between the two of them.

Dean felt only a little better when Giles explained that he'd given her a combination of painkiller, sedative, and some sort of healing mojo all rolled into one. It wouldn't have killed the bastard to give a warning first. Still, he calmed down slightly when Giles told him they wouldn't need to be back in town until noon the next day. It seemed Buffy would be knocked out for the next eight to ten hours, and he decided that anything that kept them away from those freaks had to have some upside.

So, Buffy had been drugged into unconsciousness, and that was the only reason she was lying in his arms right now. If she was in her right mind, she probably wouldn't even be in the same room with him. As it was, she looked very peaceful and content. He was actually a little jealous. He could use some drugs himself… or a drink. God could he use a drink right now. It wasn't an option though. He had to stay sharp. He was afraid if he got drunk he might actually kill one of those Council sons of bitches.

As much as he liked the feel of Buffy in his arms, Dean decided he needed to get up. It wasn't quite six in the morning yet, but he knew he wasn't going back to sleep, and honestly it was just too painful to lie here with her when he knew he was the last person she wanted around. He slid his arm out from beneath her and scooted out of bed, trying his best not to disturb her. Although he doubted a nuclear explosion would wake her up at this point. He drew another blanket over her and then headed to throw some more wood in the stove. When he did, he realized they were starting to get a little low on firewood. He'd meant to go out and bust up some logs a few days ago, but things had been too crazy. At least that would give him something to do. Swinging an axe around might be a good stress reliever.

He had a decent sized pile going when he heard a vaguely familiar British voice speak from behind him. Dean swung around with the axe held high, but halted his blow when he recognized the Watcher named Giles.

"Dude, what the hell? You're gonna get yourself killed. _Jesus!_"

"My apologies," he said, but he didn't look too worried about the axe Dean was holding on him. "You're right. I should have announced myself."

Dean gritted his teeth and buried the blade of the axe in a log. "No shit. Why are you here, anyway? It's freakin' six a.m. Don't you people sleep?"

"I suppose I could ask you the same question."

"Yeah, well," Dean shrugged as he took a deep breath, realizing he needed to try and reel in his temper. "There's always shit to be done around here… So, what's up? Thought we weren't due in town until noon."

"You aren't," Giles agreed. "But I wanted to speak with you. We didn't really get the chance to chat yesterday. I'm Rupert Giles," he said as he held out a hand for Dean to shake.

Dean shook the man's hand. Didn't want to, but that didn't matter. It seemed he suddenly had to do a lot of things he didn't want to do.

"Dean Winchester," he replied. "I'm sure you know all about me already."

"Oh, I've read Quentin's notes of course… but I prefer to form my own opinions."

"Awesome. You're a real rebel."

Dean realized he wasn't doing such a good job of being 'friendly', but he also wasn't exactly a morning person. Giles cracked a smile though, so maybe he wasn't quite as uptight as Travers.

"So, what do you wanna know? I'm an open book," he added as he held out his arms and smirked.

"The Slayer is still sleeping, I presume?" Giles asked.

"Yeah," he replied tightly. "_Buffy_ is still sleeping. In fact, thanks to you, she's knocked the fuck out. So, I'm afraid she's not _up for a bit of chat _right now."

The man smiled again and chuckled lightly when Dean mocked his accent. It was almost like he was laughing at his own private joke. He decided that maybe this dude was just nuts.

"Faith may have a point," Giles remarked.

Dean raised an eyebrow. He had no clue what this asshole was talking about.

"She's no ordinary Slayer, your Buffy," the man remarked. "If she'd been well yesterday, I think she may have taken Faith… or come very close to it."

"Yeah," Dean agreed cautiously, he wasn't sure what the game was. "She's a tiny, blond badass. I'm aware."

"Are you?"

"Yeah, I'm aware," he repeated icily. The question had been delivered a little harshly and Dean detected a note of accusation in there too.

"Tell me then… Exactly what was that stunt of yours about yesterday?"

Dean didn't reply, instead he regarded Rupert Giles silently for a moment. He really wasn't sure what was going on and why dude felt the need to come all the way out here - by himself - at the asscrack of dawn.

"Quentin believes you were attempting to ingratiate yourself to the Council… and solidify your position of power among the townspeople."

Dean huffed a laugh. "Yeah, that's the popular opinion. I'm a power-hungry bastard. What can I say?"

"Or perhaps," Giles continued, "Faith's impression was a bit more accurate. She thinks you were shielding the girl from being forced to commit murder."

"Murder?" Dean interrupted bitterly. "I thought that was a 'fully justified state-sponsored execution'. You tellin' me I murdered that poor guy last night?"

Giles smirked and paused to light a cigarette before speaking again.

"Well, looks like I owe Faith fifty quid," he remarked through a puff of smoke. "Although I'm not quite sure what she expects to buy with money these days. It's rather useless, you know. I suppose it's the principal. Faith does so love to be right. She's a right bitch, that one," he remarked fondly.

"What's this about?" Dean snapped impatiently. He was at his rope's end. "Seriously dude, what _the fuck_ do you want from me? What do you want from her?" he asked as he pointed toward the house. "She does the Goddamned job, okay? Am I supposed to beat her once a week anyway? Or maybe I should do it more often… or maybe not at all? Hell, I don't freakin' know. You bastards have totally fucked with my head. I don't know my ass from a hole in the ground anymore!"

"You're quite the horrible actor, Mr. Winchester," Giles said with a grin. "It's appalling frankly. The yelling and the cursing, in particular, give you straight away."

Dean grabbed for the axe handle. Apparently the jig was up, so he might as well get the satisfaction of killing one of these bastards before they take him out. He had just managed to free the blade from the log when he heard the familiar sound of a pistol being cocked.

"Beat you to the draw, as they say," Giles remarked as he trained the weapon's sights on Dean's head. "I'm not a huge fan of these things, but when in Rome…"

"Do it then," Dean said as he let go of the axe handle and held his arms to the side. "Go ahead."

"Honestly, I've no plans to kill you. Not unless I have to."

"Just, get it over with! I'm tired of playing games with you dickheads. Pull the frickin trigger already. I'm done."

Giles lowered the gun a little and chuckled lightly. "You're a very dramatic man, Dean. Why don't you allow me to speak my mind first? If you don't like what I have to say, then I'll kill you. How about it? Do we have a deal?"

"Sure," Dean replied in exasperation. "What the fuck ever. Shoot. What do you want to tell me?"

The Watcher put his gun away and grabbed another smoke since he'd dropped the other when he went for the pistol. "You don't seem to think too highly of the Council," he remarked as he dug through his pockets for a lighter. "Am I right?"

"What gave me away?" Dean replied sarcastically.

Giles didn't respond right away, because he didn't seem to be listening. The guy appeared to be deep in his own head.

"I was raised to do this," he remarked thoughtfully. "My family has always held tremendous respect for the Watcher's Council. We never thought they were perfect, mind you, but we did believe in their mission…. Things have changed, however. The Council of today is not the Council of my father."

Dean did his best to keep a blank expression when Giles paused to gauge his reaction.

"Not everyone agrees with Quentin Travers methods," he continued. "Some of us, in fact, wish to see an end to the bastard's tenure. He is very powerful, however. So, I'm afraid it is not as simple as it may seem. We can't simply do away with him, as satisfying as that may be. He knows things, very important things."

"So? What do you want from me?" Dean asked as he kept his poker face firmly in place.

"Honestly, I'd like to know if we can count on you when the time comes…. And more importantly, we want Buffy Summers on our side. She would be quite the asset. But I'm putting the offer before you as well, because I was hoping for a package deal. Can't have too many allies in this fight."

"And what happens to her if we get caught?"

Giles smirked. "I'd imagine all of our fates would be similar. Although, I suspect my death would be the slower and more painful of the lot."

"Then, good luck with that," Dean replied flatly, "I'm afraid we can't help you."

"Really? I'm a bit surprised. You don't seem like the type to run from a fight."

Dean shook his head at the man. Who the fuck was he to call him a coward?

"Maybe I'm learning to be," he ground out. "Maybe I've played the 'save the world' game one to many times. _Maybe_ I've figured out it's all a giant waste of my time. Cause look," he growled as he pointed around him. "None of it made a difference. Pretty much everybody died anyway, so NO! I'm done. I've got enough to worry about right here. You can leave us out of your little crusade."

"So you plan to be the Council's bitch then?" Giles taunted.

"Yeah, I'm their little bitch. Ain't it grand?" Dean asked with a sarcastic smirk. "I figure you guys'll be around for a week - two tops - and then you'll run off to harass some other poor bastard. Until then, my only concern is making sure you asshats don't order any more murders and, more importantly, that you KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF BUFFY!"

"So, you've no concern for the other Slayers then? You don't care about the horrid conditions that some of those poor fifteen-year-old _children_ are living in?"

"Sorry, but no," Dean lied. "It sucks, but I can't do a damn thing about it. Besides, why don't you just free 'em all? I don't see dickwad having much leverage without his army of Slayers. So, go find some blue amber or whatever the fuck it is you need to reverse those spells. You don't need my help and you sure as hell don't need Buffy's. Leave her out of this."

Dean was a shocked at the speed at which the older man was able to move. Giles had grabbed him by the collar of his jacket and slammed his back against the woodpile before he was able to react.

"How do you know about that?" he demanded. "No one knows about that!"

Dean pushed back hard and sent Giles stumbling to keep his balance. "Know about what? Dude, what the hell is your problem?"

"How do you know about the prime ingredient for the reversal spell?" Giles continued urgently. "It's Travers' most closely guarded secret. It took me months and several lives lost to gather even that much information. How is it that _you_ know?"

Dean was thrown. He'd assumed all the Watchers knew how to undo the binding spells. No wonder Travers had such an iron grip on everything. He held the keys to the castle.

"Believe it or not," he replied. "I know at least one son of a bitch who's even worse than Quentin Travers. He's the one who told me."

"Then tell me how it works," Giles asked excitedly.

Dean shrugged. "Fuck if I know. I was just told you had to have some rare-ass stone from South America or some shit. Man, look… he didn't exactly give me a recipe. I didn't even know if he was telling the truth or not. Dude's not exactly the helpful type."

"Can you contact this man?"

"He's not a man, not really. Trust me. You don't want to go there. Get your info somewhere else. You don't wanna get mixed up with him."

Anger settled over Giles' features and once again he went from harmless looking British-guy to something a lot closer to a hunter. "I don't think you understand me, Dean. I need this information and I'm in no position to be choosey about the source."

"The _source_," Dean emphasized, "happens to be a demon. Not just a demon, the demon. It's the friggin' King of Hell! He's not going to help you. He's not going to help anybody."

"A demon? Do you mean a Crossroads' Demon?"

Dean sighed. Dude was not letting this go. "Used to be," he confirmed. "But he's been promoted. Consider him the new and sadly improved _Satan_."

"Do you know how to summon this Crowley? Him specifically I mean?"

"Dude -," Dean began, but he was cut off.

"You must tell me how to summon him," Giles demanded. "Everything hangs on this particular bit of information. I cannot afford to bypass this opportunity. You don't have to assist us, but you could at least grow some balls and give us the information we need!"

Dean rolled his eyes at the insult. Watcher-dude had no idea what he was asking for. Still, he thought about just telling him how to do it. Crowley would probably kill the guy, but it wasn't like he didn't warn him. Then again, maybe this was Dean's chance to get something from the Council. Even though what he was going to ask for was the last thing he wanted, he now realized it was what he had to do.

"I'm guessing you've got access to a big ass occult library," he remarked, "Not to mention some seriously badass magic to back it all up."

"We do," Giles nodded as a knowing smile spread across his face. "Is there something you're wanting in trade, perhaps?"

"Looks like," he agreed. "And if I do this for you, you leave Buffy out of it. You don't tell her shit about any of this! She doesn't need to get involved. But, I want in. I wanna kill Travers myself. I'll have nothing left to lose."

"We'll see about that… There's a very long line and I happen to be at the head of it. So, what is it you're wanting?" Giles asked expectantly.

Dean paused and swallowed hard before replying. If he did this, he knew there was no going back.

"I want you to open a door."

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: *Ducks head* - another rough, angsty chapter and a cruel, evil cliffhanger. Also, it will probably be a few weeks until the next update (sorry). I'll be out of town for a bit.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Last time I did Dean's POV of the whole Council mess, so this time I decided to go with Buffy's. Also felt like throwing in a little smut, since it's been a few chapters. *winks* Hope you enjoy. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.

**Chapter 9**

Buffy felt wonderful. She was exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhausted. The kind where every bone in her body had turned to jelly and she was just so relaxed and satisfied that the entire world could catch on fire and she wouldn't care. She had a suspicion somewhere in the back of her mind that drugs were somehow involved, but didn't linger over it. The 'how and why?' of the drug situation seemed to be a subject her addled brain did not want to go anywhere near, and she agreed with that decision. Her mind was much more interested in recalling another time where she'd experienced a similar feeling.

XXXXXXXXXX

The first time she and Dean shared a bed, it didn't start out in the bedroom. It started in the living room and they eventually worked their way to the bedroom… or Dean did anyway. Buffy honestly didn't remember leaving the couch, so she was fairly certain she must've been carried. She had fallen asleep after orgasm number 'who knows?' And she'd woken up in Dean's bed to the feeling of his weight on top of her and his stubble tickling her breasts as he used his lips and tongue to bring her nipples to hard peaks once again. She continued to lay there with her eyes closed, just enjoying the sensations he was creating. She'd never felt quite as desirable or as comfortable in her own body before. As far as she was concerned, Dean was the perfect specimen of a man and for weeks she'd spent a lot of time wondering what type of woman he was attracted to. She'd often imagined someone more statuesque than herself, the tall and busty centerfold type. But, at the moment, he had her convinced she was the most beautiful, most desirable woman in the entire universe.

"Hey, lazy girl," he said as he raised his head and shook her lightly. "I didn't bring you in here to sleep. Wake up and take it like a woman," he teased.

Buffy opened her eyes and could clearly see him above her in the moonlight that was streaming in through the window. She'd never seen this expression on his face before. He was smiling lazily and he actually looked relaxed. Dean Winchester didn't do relaxed. At least she'd never seen it before.

She gasped when he reached between her legs and slid the tip of his middle finger inside her and used his thumb to lightly stroke her still overly-sensitized clit.

He bit his lower lip and groaned. "You're already wet for me again," he observed almost reverently before widening his grin into a full-on leer. "Beautiful and horny… Think I found the perfect woman."

Buffy moaned as he pressed his full length deeply inside of her. He didn't begin thrusting immediately; instead he held his hips still and kissed her softly before running his lips across her jawline and down her neck, leaving a hot trail as he went. Her breathing became more ragged as he nibbled lightly at the base of her throat.

When he finally began to move, his strokes were gentle and slow. She sighed and moaned beneath him, enjoying the contrast between the slow burn he was creating and the raging fire they'd experienced earlier. It was impossible to decide which was better. Because, this time she was able to focus on exploring his body, something she'd wanted to do for so long. She ran her hands across his back, shoulders and arms, feeling the muscles working beneath his skin and breathing in the scent that was uniquely him. Dean wasn't bulky, but as she'd suspected, he was very well-muscled and toned. Her fingers found an array of scars as she explored and she wondered about the stories behind them. She wondered about it as much as her mind would allow, anyway. It was hard to think with him inside of her.

She was stretched tightly around him and his cock seemed to find every nerve ending she had. He was still going slowly, but every so often, he would swivel his hips and grind into her in a way that made her gasp, longing for more. He was winding her up again, and she had no doubt that he knew exactly what he was doing. It wouldn't be long before she'd be a writhing, whimpering mess, shamelessly begging him to fuck her fast and hard. And knowing he was doing this deliberately still wasn't going to help her control herself.

He paused mid-stroke and leaned up on his elbows above her. "Like your new bed?" he asked with an arrogant smirk.

Buffy had to push aside her building pleasure and force herself to appear nonchalant. He looked so infuriatingly confident, like he was absolutely certain she would be sharing his bed from now on. She decided he needed to be brought down a peg or two.

"It's okay, I guess," she replied, shrugging her shoulders a little, aiming for his level of casual confidence. "I suppose I could be persuaded to sleep over from time to time."

"Not how this works, princess," he stated. He didn't sound angry, but there was a definite ring of seriousness in his voice. He wasn't joking around. "I call all the shots, remember? And the boss says you and your tight little pussy are going to stay right here." He gave her a long and possessive kiss and pressed his cock into her as far as he could go before continuing. "I always wake up with a raging hard on," he warned her in a gravelly voice as he spoke close to her ear. "You're gonna help me out with that problem… I'll need you close by. I'm a lazy man, so I prefer easy access."

The willful portion of Buffy's mind started to protest even though she felt an increased throbbing between her thighs at the sound of his gruff and demanding tone. She had no issues with sharing his bed, but she felt the need to establish some balance in this 'relationship'_…_ or whatever it was they had between them. Sure, she realized that wasn't how the whole 'slavery' thing worked, but to hell with that. She was no one's trained dog, not even Dean's. Even if she did want him with every fiber of her being, she still wasn't going to allow him to completely walk all over her. Buffy crinkled her brow and opened her mouth to tell him just that when he completely threw her off balance.

Apparently, he had mistaken her anger for something else, because he quickly pulled out of her, and his expression went from smug to concerned in a split second.

"You okay?" he asked with a frown. "I haven't… you know… made you too sore or anything, have I?"

Buffy just blinked back at him, not quite sure what to say. Where had Mr. Arrogant 'you'll spread your legs wherever I want, whenever I want' gone? The man was an enigma. She continued to stare at him in confusion as he gently smoothed her tangled hair out of her face.

"Sorry… You shoulda said something. I'm a horny bastard and it's been a while… and…Well, you're so damn hot, I kinda got carried away... I'm sorry, baby," he apologized again.

Buffy took in his uncertain and almost boyish expression for a moment. He actually looked ashamed of himself… and it melted away all of her irritation with him. She felt a sudden surge of confidence and a strong desire to feel him inside of her again. She did her best to mimic his most arrogant smirk and rolled her eyes.

"_Please._ I'm the Slayer… Trust me, you'll be begging for mercy looong before I ever will. I've got more stamina than you can handle, buddy."

Dean looked a little thrown himself for a second, and Buffy smiled back triumphantly.

"Oh yeah?" he asked as a slow grin began to spread across his face. "That sounds like a challenge. Let me tell you somethin, sister. Better not bet against me, cause I don't lose. So, hold on little smartass… I'm about to fuck your brains out."

"You can try," she challenged, but the last word came out as a squeal when he yanked her ankles up against his shoulders and slammed himself back inside of her with one hard thrust.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy moaned aloud at the memory of what followed and reached out an arm for Dean, thinking she'd wake him up this time around. But, she found only an empty space beside her. A cold dread began to replace the blissful relaxed feeling. It wasn't just that he wasn't in bed beside her, that was merely a symptom of far worse things - things her mind had deliberately attempted to block.

The two previous days were jumbled and the last solid memory she had was of being at the Council's twisted post-execution banquet. She tried desperately to cling to the belief that none of that had actually happened. It was all just another part of the delusions caused by the monster's poisonous talons.

She sat up and looked around, searching for some sort of confirmation that she'd imagined everything. Her eyes fell on a sweater lying discarded on the floor and her heart sank. She could clearly see the stains caused by the blood dripping from her busted-up face… a busted-up face that was the result of a fight with Faith. Oh God. This was real. The only mystery was why part of last night was missing and why she no longer seemed to have any injuries. She always healed fast, but this was ridiculous.

Something else had happened. She decided it had something to do with Giles – No, 'Imposter Giles', she reminded herself. That other man definitely was NOT her Giles. But a part of her was nevertheless devastated that someone who looked like Giles had once again drugged her without her knowledge or consent… just like what had happened on her eighteenth birthday, the one where the Council had basically tried to kill her. Now they were back again, and this time they had no limits on their power. It was horrifying.

She was suddenly assailed by a graphic vision of the shooting and the cold, blank look on Dean's face as he gunned down an innocent, unarmed man and left him lying in a pool of blood like it was nothing. It was as if the thing with Angel was happening all over again. The man she loved had suddenly become a cruel, unfeeling monster. Buffy's heart began racing and she felt a wave of nausea wash over her. She felt panic rising up within her and felt an urge to run and hide, because she couldn't do this again. Hell Gods and legions of monsters she could handle, but not that. She wasn't strong enough to go through that nightmare ever again.

Buffy took some deep breaths, trying to calm herself. The lingering effects of the drug Giles had given her were making it hard to think clearly. It was like her head was full of cobwebs. _Dean is not Angel, Dean is not Angel_… she kept repeating the thought again and again like an internal mantra. She had to clear her head and think about this rationally. Dean hadn't lost his soul. The proof was lying crumpled on the floor. A soulless monster wouldn't have removed her bloody clothes and made sure that she was comfortably tucked under the covers. The Council was responsible for what had happened. They had to be. Quentin Travers was holding something over Dean. It was how he operated. She knew that better than anyone. He'd done it to her when her Giles had sought the Council's help with Glory.

Buffy slid her feet to the floor, completely unaware of the cold wood beneath her bare feet. She only cared about finding Dean at this point. She had to talk to him and try to make him understand what was happening. She quickly pulled on one of his t-shirts. It was lying carelessly draped over a chair and she wasn't sure how clean it was, but right now that didn't matter. She had to find him.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy's search for Dean didn't take long. He was sitting at the kitchen table with literally every gun he owned spread out before him. It was obviously another gun cleaning day and yet another sign that he hadn't joined the ranks of the soulless. This was typical Dean. Some people went for a run when they were upset, some people listened to sappy music, others gorged themselves on chocolate and ice cream… Dean Winchester cleaned his guns. The only thing missing from the picture was a glass of whiskey. It was a little odd that he wasn't drinking as well. The two actions normally went together.

"What did they threaten you with?" she demanded bluntly.

Dean looked up from the gun barrel he was swabbing out. He was caught off guard. She'd surprised him.

"You look better," he remarked as he looked her over. "At least that limey bastard fixed you up. You feel okay?"

Buffy ignored the question. "Dean," she said with forced patience. "Tell me why you did it. What did Quentin Travers threaten you with?"

He regarded her silently for a moment with haunted eyes. It was obvious he'd had little to no sleep. He smirked and placed the barrel of the pistol he was cleaning against his temple, causing Buffy to cringe. She knew it wasn't loaded, but it wasn't like him to be so careless. The first thing he'd taught her was to treat every gun as if it was loaded and ready to fire at all times.

"Usual stuff," he said. "Bullet in my grapefruit. I tried to talk 'em out of it… but well… you see how that worked out," he added bitterly.

She didn't believe him. Not entirely anyway. She didn't doubt that Quentin had threatened his life, but there was more to it than that. Dean wasn't the type to cave to threats of bodily harm or even his own death. Much to her relief, he lowered the gun from his head and continued swabbing out the barrel as if she wasn't standing right in front of him looking for answers.

She pulled out a chair and sat facing him, but he still didn't look up. She placed a hand on his forearm. All thoughts of this being another Angel/Angelus situation had dissolved the moment she'd looked into his eyes.

"Dean, I need you to listen to me," she said gently. "I know the Council. I know how they operate. Quentin Travers will do _anything_ if he thinks it will make him more powerful and he doesn't care who he has to hurt to do it."

He sat the pistol aside and looked up at her. He still looked incredibly haunted, but at least Buffy had his attention now. She seized on the opportunity and told him everything she knew about the Council and Quentin Travers. How they'd tried to kill her on her eighteenth birthday and again when they thought she was Faith. Then she told him about the ridiculous 'review' they'd subjected her and her friends to. How they'd threatened her with deporting the real Giles if she didn't agree to play by their rules and be their stupid 'instrument', and how she'd ultimately called their bluff.

"Don't you see, Dean," she pleaded. "Quentin Travers is nothing but a bully. He threatens and he manipulates, but in the end he's just a coward. We have to fight back! It's the only way. It's the only thing he understands."

A flash of hope showed in Dean's eyes, but it disappeared so fast that Buffy wasn't sure it had even been there in the first place.

"No," he said flatly. "We're not fighting them."

"Dean -," she started to argue, but he cut her off.

"I said NO! I get it, okay. I believe you. But that was in your world. In this one, the son of a bitch has the guns to back up his snotty-assed mouth. The fucker holds all the cards. He has the power and he'll use it to…" Dean trailed off, gritting his teeth in frustration. "I know you're pissed at me," he continued. "I don't blame you. I'd be pissed at me too. But, we're playing their game and that's final. For the next few days, you're going to pretend to actually give a shit about what I have to say. If I say jump, you'll ask 'how high?' After that it won't matter anymore."

"What does that even mean?" Buffy yelled in frustration.

Dean stared back at her with a pained expression. He reached out his hands to touch her, but changed his mind and placed them back on the tabletop instead.

"It means I have a plan to fix this mess," he said in a tight voice. "So, I'm begging you to play along for now and let those Council assholes think that you actually obey me. Please Buffy. That's all I'm asking."

"Then what's the plan!" she demanded angrily. "I can help you with this! I'm not some flaily-handed damsel in distress who needs to be protected from the big bad. I don't understand why you're trying to keep me in the dark. You can't treat me like a child and order me around anymore, Dean. I have a right to know. This is my life too!"

Buffy found herself pinned with her back against the wall. Dean was fast and he could sometimes catch her off-guard, especially when she was upset or distracted. He held her still, gripping her upper arms roughly. He looked like he was ready to completely snap and for a moment, she wasn't sure what to expect from him next.

"I can and will order you around," he ground out. "And you're going to listen for once."

Buffy lifted her chin and looked him directly in the eye. "Hit me then. Because, if you do that, I _might_ just follow your orders _for once_. Go ahead, Dean," she challenged him. "It's your only shot at getting your way this time. I can take it. Believe me, I've had my ass kicked by things MUCH worse than you. So go ahead..."

Dean was obviously enraged. His features were hard and a muscle ticked in his cheek. For a brief second, she thought he might actually go through with it. But then he let her go and settled for smashing one of the kitchen chairs into a pile of kindling.

Buffy just crossed her arms in front of her and watched him silently. He couldn't seriously think that beating up the furniture was going to scare her straight. But, despite his actions, she felt a lot less angry. He hadn't been able to hit her. The man she loved was in there somewhere. There was still hope.

He finally stopped his rampage and stood with his back to her, breathing heavily.

"What do you think happens to you if they kill me?" he asked quietly.

She didn't answer him. It honestly wasn't something she'd considered. She wasn't particularly worried about what they might try to do to her. Buffy Summers could take care of herself.

Dean turned around and looked at her. It was clear that all the fight had gone out of him and now he just looked beaten. Buffy decided that she preferred the angry jackass. This version of Dean was too painful to look at.

"I know I'm a bastard," he stated, making it sound like it was just a simple fact of life. "Killing Eric is just the icing on the cake compared to some of the shit I've done. But if you think getting rid of me is going to make things better for you –"

"Dean, I –," Buffy began.

"Just let me finish," he interrupted tiredly. "Buffy, most hunters aren't such bad guys. But, believe it or not, there's a few out there that are way worse than me… and if the Council decides to off me, Quentin Travers will make sure you get stuck with the nastiest son of a bitch he can find. I know you're tough, but everybody has a breaking point and he'll put you with somebody who'll find it. I guarantee it. The sadistic motherfucker will do it just for spite."

Dean was deadly serious as he spoke and Buffy wondered if she actually saw tears shining in his eyes. He shook off the mood quickly, however, and went back to sounding angry and exasperated with her.

"Just quit bitching and get your ass in gear," he growled as he gestured toward the hallway. "We need to be out of here in less than an hour. We've got some hoops to jump through, and if we're late, they'll just find a way to be even bigger dicks about the whole thing. I'm not exactly in the mood to deal with any more of their shit than I already have to."

Buffy started to argue, but ended up following orders anyway. She was too floored to do anything else. She wasn't sure what to say. Could all of this actually be about her? Was her safety the thing Quentin was using to control Dean?


	10. Chapter 10

Dean swallowed hard, took a deep breath and told himself, once again, that there was no way he was going to puke. No fucking way. He was already humiliated enough by having to bow and scrape to every one of Quentin Travers' insane whims, so blowing chunks in front of the Council goons was not on the menu. He suddenly wished he knew some of that hippie meditation crap. Something that would allow him to send his mind elsewhere, so he wouldn't be aware that he was on a damn helicopter. Jesus. It was even worse than riding on a plane. He didn't think that was possible.

He felt some slight pressure on the small of his back and realized it was Buffy's hand. She'd slid it back behind the seat he was sitting in. He glanced at her and noticed she didn't look entirely happy with the situation herself. He wasn't sure if she was afraid of flying too or if it was just a more general type of distress. It was impossible to tell, because God knows they had plenty of sources of distress these days. You could take your fucking pick. None of it was good.

He did wonder if Buffy's gesture was about seeking comfort or giving it. He was actually blown away that she was even touching him to begin with. He'd been convinced that he'd earned her eternal hatred when he committed cold blooded murder right in front of her. He wouldn't have blamed her. But Buffy had, once again, shown that she could be incredibly compassionate - yet another reason why she did not belong in this world. This place would eventually burn the humanity out of her, just as it had done to him. Sending her back was the right thing to do. He couldn't selfishly keep her here when he knew she was so unhappy. She deserved better.

He wasn't sure what he would do when she was gone. His immediate plan was to tear down the Council's little playhouse. He was going to burn it all to the ground and make Quentin Travers watch as all of his power was stripped away. Then he was going to kill the bastard with his bare hands. After that, if he survived, he knew he couldn't stay in this town and especially not in the house where everything would remind him of Buffy. He was out of there. Joe would have to assume the job of Town Hunter. The guy was capable enough and the place was very well fortified. He hated to do that to a man with a baby, but the reality was that his child had a better chance in life than most. He had a fairly safe place to live and a community full of people who were mostly thrilled at the idea of having a new life in their midst. Besides, Joe was highly sought after by every available woman in the town, and never had a problem finding a babysitter. Hunters were very popular with the ladies ever since the latest apocalypse. So, the kid would be looked after, no matter what.

He supposed he'd go check on the Impala and then he'd probably start searching for Sam again. At least it would be something to do, something to keep his mind off of Buffy. His car was parked in a barn a couple hundred miles northeast. He'd been forced to leave her behind because the roads had become hopelessly clogged with wreckage and abandoned cars, after everyone had panicked and tried to evacuate. Problem was, there was no place to evacuate to. It was all just one big confused mess. Bobby had introduced him to the expression 'herding cats' and Dean thought that described the shitstorm pretty accurately. The people up north had decided it was safe down south, the people in the south decided they needed to move up north, and on and on it went.

That barn had been the last place he'd seen Sam. His brother had tried to hold it together, but the combined pressure of his wall breaking and the world itself literally becoming hell on earth had finally caused him to completely crack. He'd flipped the fuck out, claiming Dean was actually Satan and seeing things that weren't there. He and Bobby had tied him up so they could get some sleep for the night, but he'd managed to break free. Dean had woken up and tried to stop him from leaving, but his little brother had knocked him out cold. It turned out that crazy Sam was even stronger than regular Sam.

He and Bobby set out on foot to find him, but the trail went cold fast. There was no one to call for leads and no place he seemed likely to go. They were chasing their tails. Weeks quickly turned into months and then Winter hit, and Bobby (who Dean had always thought was indestructible) had finally had enough of being cold, hungry, and always in danger. He got the stupid flu of all things. Fate didn't even have the decency to give the man a proper hunter's death. The virus had turned into pneumonia and after several long weeks of them squatting in an empty house with salted windows and very little food, he was finally gone and Dean was all alone.

After Bobby was gone, he kept searching for Sam, even though he knew it was a waste of time. In his mental state, there was no way his brother could have survived for very long on his own. Truth was, something had probably made a meal of him within the first week. But still he kept looking. What else was he supposed to do?

As he wandered, he ran across quite a few human monsters and more than enough real ones. Somehow - and he really wasn't quite sure how – he ended up as the unofficial leader of a band of survivors he'd picked up along the way. He had wanted to be left alone to work on his pointless quest. A part of him hoped he would eventually get ripped apart or simply die of exposure, but the people just kept coming and he was never quite able to send them away. Once he realized these people were going to keep following him (they had nowhere else to go) he decided he couldn't keep dragging them around the countryside while he searched for someone who was long dead. So, he began looking for a place to settle down. A place that was defensible and isolated from the bigger cities where the thugs liked to congregate. That search had led him here, to this town, and ultimately to Buffy. And despite everything he'd lost, he'd been happier here with her than he'd been since before Sam had left for college and Dad had disappeared. He was still one severely fucked-up individual, but he no longer felt like he was just going through the motions. He had hope and he'd actually found out what it was like to be truly in love with someone. Obviously, there was no way it could have lasted.

Dean started in surprise when he felt the chopper touch down on solid ground once more. He'd been so focused on the crappy facts of his life that he'd actually forgotten about the crappy helicopter ride for a few minutes. His thoughts hadn't been pleasant, but at least they had kept him from blowing chunks.

They'd landed in a field somewhere outside of town. He wasn't sure exactly where, because he hadn't been able to force himself to look down. So, he was totally lost and hopefully that wouldn't come back to bite him in the ass.

Aside from himself and Buffy, the group consisted of the pilot, that creepy-ass witch, two black suit guys, Giles, and Faith. Dickhead Travers was going to view the 'exercise' while sitting safely on his ass back in town, probably with a cup of tea. Supposedly, wireless mikes and cameras were posted around the field where God knows what was going to happen.

After the things Buffy had told him earlier, Dean was prepared for an extreme level of fuckery. According to her, the Council's exercises were designed to be highly frustrating and practically impossible. He wasn't sure what they were planning, but it wouldn't be fun. Still, he was happy as hell to get off the flying deathtrap and put his feet back on solid ground. But his relief was short lived, because the moment he stepped down, one of the black suit guys started patting him down. It was that dude named Rhodes. Dean remembered him as the guy who'd led Buffy away from him the day before. The man was hard to forget, since he was roughly the size of a tank.

Dean had to clamp his jaw down hard to keep from protesting when the gun was snatched from his waistband, but when the guy took his large hunting knife too, he couldn't keep his mouth shut any longer.

"I thought we were supposed to be hunting something," he snapped. "How the hell am I supposed to hunt when I have no friggin' weapons?"

Rhodes didn't say anything. He just continued with his pat down as if he hadn't even heard Dean speaking, but Giles spoke up for him.

"You do have a weapon, Mr. Winchester. You have an extremely powerful weapon, in fact," he added as he glanced toward Buffy. "This exercise was designed to see how proficient you are at wielding that weapon."

You could practically see fire shooting from Buffy's eyes, but to Dean's surprise, she didn't say anything. Her restraint actually helped him to swallow the tirade he was about to let loose with, because it was pointless and he knew Giles was only putting on a show for Travers' benefit anyway. He was still disappointed, however, when Rhodes moved to his legs. He was afraid he'd discover the smaller handgun he'd stashed in his boot. This one had been loaded with silver as an extra precaution, and because Dean just had a hunch about it. He was prepared to lose it too, but the guy didn't seem to find it. Rhodes just moved on to the other leg and then stood back.

"He's clean," the man said.

"Very good," Giles said with a nod. "Now we may proceed."

Dean glanced briefly at Rhodes, but the man wore the same blank expression he always wore. Either he was as stupid as he looked or he'd purposefully let him keep the weapon. If it was the latter, then he knew at least one of the guards was anti-Travers. That was one good thing.

Buffy was subjected to the same pat down procedure by the other guard and she looked irritated at the loss of an assortment of knives, her pistol, and a wooden stake of all things. The guard looked baffled by that one. Dean actually had to force himself not to smile. Buffy didn't seem to be able to let go of her obsession with carrying a wooden stake around, even though she realized it was practically useless against monsters in this world.

Dean lost all sense of amusement when he realized that it was possible these assholes were going to expect Buffy to literally BE the weapon. As in, she'd have to strictly rely on beating things to death. But much to his relief, Faith stepped forward and handed her a crossbow and a small dagger. Even so, the look she directed at Faith was one of pure, rabid hatred rather than gratitude. Dean decided the other slayer better hope that Buffy didn't get a second crack at her. This time, he had no doubt who the winner would be. And it wasn't going to be the hot and sexy catfight he'd daydreamed about when he'd first met Faith. No, this one would be brutal and bloody.

Dean had noted that the tips on the crossbow bolts looked suspiciously like silver, as did the blade on the dagger. A pattern seemed to be forming. Whatever they were facing, it was allergic to silver.

Once the weapons were in order, the two of them were ordered to stand in the middle of the field. They stood back to back, anxiously waiting to see what was coming. The freaky-looking witch stepped forward, raised her hands in the air, and almost immediately, a chorus of snarls could be heard coming from the tree line. The witch then uttered an incantation of some sort and what looked like a large bubble shimmered into place over the helicopter and the group standing just outside of it. The bastards had a force field. They'd be watching in safety.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean quickly discovered they were surrounded by skinwalkers. Many of them looked like wolves, but a few had the appearance of domesticated dogs - big, domesticated dogs. Rottweilers and German Sheppards and things like that. He had faced them with Buffy before and realized she knew exactly what they were and how to kill them, but he still had to put on a good show for Travers. So, he barked orders at her and attempted to stand back and let her pick them off with the crossbow. It was working out okay, if it weren't for the fact that more and more of the bastards just kept coming out of the trees. Buffy was starting to run low on bolts and Dean was not looking forward to engaging in close combat with these fuckers, not when one bite was all that was needed to make a person one of them.

"To hell with this," he mumbled as he knelt down and reached inside his boot to retrieve the pistol. He may have just failed the test, but this was a matter of life and death. He'd deal with Travers later.

Dean had picked off a few with shots to the head or the heart, but more were still headed their way and Buffy had just fired-off her last bolt. Now all they had left were a few bullets and Buffy's silver dagger. It wasn't going to be enough. Dean emptied his pistol into the ones who were closest and each shot found its mark, as much good as that was going to do. They were about to be overrun.

One of the creatures leapt and knocked Dean to the ground before he could move out of its way. He hit the ground at an awkward angle with his right arm twisted behind him. He could feel the tendons in his shoulder being pulled (or ripped) and a sharp rock lying beneath him had definitely given him more than a little scratch. He looked up to see the muzzle of a huge timber wolf, just inches from his face. Its breath was worse than an open sewer. Hopefully, the thing would rip his throat out, because he wasn't looking forward to being turned into one of these freaks. He closed his eyes in anticipation of the inevitable bite, but instead heard the creature let out a loud yelp followed by a rather pitiful whine, and then found himself pinned beneath what felt like at least 200lbs worth of dead wolf turned dead, naked man. As ways for a hunter to die went, being mauled to death while trapped under a big, hairy, naked, dead guy had to be right up there in the top ten most embarrassing. The body was quickly kicked off of him, however, and he saw Buffy's concerned face standing over him.

"Behind you!" he called out in panic when he saw a large Rottweiler bearing down on her. She turned with her knife held up, but the creature went down before she had a chance to engage it. All around them was the deafening sound of gunfire and crossbow bolts whizzing by. It seemed that the Council folks had decided it was time to leave their nice, safe bubble.

XXXXXXXXX

Dean removed his coat and the flannel he'd worn over his henley. He was attempting to wrap the flannel around his forearm to staunch the blood flowing from the nasty, jagged cut he'd received. Buffy tried to help him, but he snapped harshly at her, telling her to get the hell away from him and find something useful to do. He preferred they have as little interaction as possible in front of the Council people. He never knew how they'd choose to interpret things. Since Travers was a giant dick, he decided that being a dick was probably the way to go.

Buffy looked hurt and a little pissed too. She turned and stomped off the other way. He didn't blame her. She had just saved his ass out there. He watched with a frown as she accepted a bottle of water from Rhodes and then went to sit under a tree. His attention was drawn away from her when Giles appeared beside him.

"Bloody stupid Rhodes," he spat irritably. "Wanker almost showed our hand with that one. He'll pay hell for it with Travers, but at least you had the sense not to pull the gun straight away. Your show should be enough to please the bastard, although I would still expect a good and proper bollocking. Why couldn't you have held off a bit longer?" he asked in clear exasperation. "Faith and I weren't planning to leave you hanging."

Dean snorted, he wasn't sure he wanted to know what a 'bollocking' was. "Excuse the hell out of me! I was more worried about being dogmeat than what the chief dick might think."

"Point taken," Giles agreed dryly. "But you must be careful. Much is riding on what happens tonight. We cannot afford to draw suspicion our way."

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy sat down with her back against one of the trees lining the edge of the clearing. It was a spot fairly devoid of naked dead people, so it seemed like a good place to rest. The icky-looking witch had passed her on her way across the field, and had greeted her with an unexpected wave and a cheerful 'Hi'. Her voice was weird and old-sounding, but there was something about the gesture and the voice that gave her a strange feeling of déjà vu. She couldn't place it though. Besides, she was too busy glaring at Dean as he stood talking to Imposter Giles. She realized he felt the need to put on a show, but he didn't have to be such a convincing and hateful ass about it.

She stiffened when a very familiar form flopped down beside her at the base of the tree. It was Faith and she was positively itching to kick her ass.

"Hey B," the other girl greeted cheerfully as she helped herself to a drink from Buffy's water bottle. "You look like you wanna rip your boy's throat out. Don't tell me you're actually buying the shit he's slingin'."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Buffy responded coldly.

Faith just rolled her eyes and smirked. "Sorry, forgot who I was talkin' to. Guess you're used to always getting your ass kissed where you're from."

Buffy's heart skipped a beat. Why did she say that? What did Faith know?

"What do you mean 'where I'm from'," she repeated back suspiciously.

She may have been wrong, but she thought Faith actually looked a little guilty for a second, like she'd said something she shouldn't have. It could have just been her imagination. She was one paranoid girl at the moment.

"Chill, Princess," Faith said with a shrug. "I just meant that I figured you lived in your Malibu Barbie Dream House before the world went to hell and you got drafted. You're a touchy little bitch, aren't ya? Course, I guess I did beat your ass pretty severely yesterday," she added with a smug grin.

Buffy narrowed her eyes. "Just try me today."

The other girl laughed. "Just so you know, I woulda taken it easier on you if I'd known you weren't in fighting shape yesterday. I'da still beaten your little blond ass, but it woulda been a fairer fight."

Buffy took a deep breath and told herself this wasn't the time or the place to make a scene. "Good to know," she said simply. She looked away from Faith and over at Dean again. He seemed to be deep in conversation with Giles. That was some unexpected weirdness.

"So what's pretty boy like in bed?" Faith asked conversationally.

Buffy screwed up her face in disgust. "So NOT your business."

"Sorry," she replied very unapologetically. "Just curious. He is the most pathetically whipped hunter I've ever seen. Was just wonderin' who was on top."

This conversation was so 'Faith' that it took Buffy a second to realize the implications. "I don't know what you're talking about," she replied tightly. It was the second time she'd used that phrase in the last few minutes, but it was the best she could come up with.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Dude committed murder last night, just so his pretty little slayer didn't have to. You gonna sit here and tell me that flew completely over your head. Drop the act. I'm onto you."

Buffy's mouth dropped open in horror. She'd figured out that he'd done it because he felt he had to, and because he feared for her safety, but the idea that she was supposed to be the executioner had never crossed her mind.

"Oh shit," Faith said beside her. This time she did sound genuinely apologetic. "I should watch my mouth. I thought you knew. I mean, I figured he told you. _Damn._ My bad," she added with a frown.

Buffy felt sick. She was barely listening to Faith's ramble.

"He didn't have to do that," she said quietly and mostly to herself. "I never would have done it."

"Yeah you woulda," Faith scoffed. "Everybody does. The boss man would've found some way to make you. Come on, B! Don't be so naïve. He does this in every town. He finds some poor schmuck that most people don't give two shits about, frames him, then has the town slayer behead him in public. It's all a big show to make you remember us when we're not around. And you'd be surprised how often the 'unguarded drugs' thing works too. Course sometimes it's for other 'crimes'," she said, making quote marks with her fingers for emphasis. "Or sometimes he just plain makes shit up. Anyways, it always goes down. That much never changes. This is the first time a hunter has done the deed though. Damn, I wish I'da been there to hear the bullshit he must've laid on the boss. Had to be epic."

Buffy stared at Faith in amazement for a moment and then she remembered the cameras and her heart began to race even faster. Quentin Travers was seeing and hearing every bit of this conversation. That couldn't be good. In fact, it would probably ensure Dean's death. She glanced up at the small webcam on the limb above her head as she felt panic beginning to take over.

"Don't sweat it. They're not transmitting," Faith informed her calmly. "Batteries are too valuable. We turn 'em off as soon as the test is over. Good thing too," she said as she stood up, brushed the dirt off the seat of her pants, and shot Buffy a wink. "Ya know… since I tend to run my mouth a lot and stuff… Anyways, better move that cute little ass. We're heading back as soon as the bodies are gone."

Buffy followed Faith's gaze to see the witch going from body to body, sprinkling each with some powder and then watching as they disintegrated quickly from a bright blue flame to a pile of ash. She turned back toward Faith, but the girl was gone. She was already headed back toward the helicopter, leaving Buffy to wonder why she'd said all those things and to try and sort out how she felt about Dean committing murder in her place.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: The next chapter will have some nice 'real time' smut in it. Just sayin ;-)


	11. Chapter 11

It took a huge force-of-will for Buffy to take her 'debriefing' with Quentin Travers seriously, mostly because she knew that there were no right answers when it came to his questions. Just like in her world, his only goal was to intimidate you and keep you guessing. She longed to laugh in his arrogant face.

Dean had been debriefed first and, predictably, he'd come out looking even more stressed than he'd appeared before going in. Buffy was afraid that he was very close to a breaking point, and that was the only thing keeping her from telling Quentin exactly what she thought of his games.

The self-proclaimed King of the Council had a television setup in the room he'd turned into an office. It showed footage from the test they'd been put through earlier in the day. Quentin would pause and rewind certain scenes, asking why she'd chosen to kill one skinwalker versus another. He also asked her if she agreed with the orders Dean gave her, and if she would have chosen different targets on her own. Honestly, she wouldn't have. She and Dean were usually on the same page about that type of thing. She may have made one or two minor changes to the game plan, but nothing significant. However, she told Travers that she wholeheartedly agreed with Dean's orders. She even told him that it "wasn't her place to decide". She couldn't believe those words were actually coming out of her mouth, but, she reminded herself, this was about keeping Dean alive. Her pride could take the sting. Travers' response had worried her, however. Something had to be done about that man.

"You appear to be very loyal to Mr. Winchester," he'd remarked.

"I am," she'd said simply, not sure what else she should say.

"That is admirable. Obedience is an important trait. However…" he'd said as he paused and looked up at her seriously. "It is important that your allegiance not be misplaced. Hunters can change, Miss Summers, the Council is the only constant. You'll do well to remember that."

"Yes sir," she'd said. Although she couldn't meet his eyes as she said it. She was afraid he'd see her murderous hatred reflected in them. Hopefully, he was arrogant enough to read her reluctance to meet his gaze as a sign of humility, rather than the rebellion it actually was.

After that conversation, she decided then and there that she was taking Quentin Travers down. She didn't care what Dean had to say about it either. She was pretty sure he was planning his own takedown anyway. So, he could either let her in on his game plan, or she'd make her own. Either way, Travers' reign as undisputed leader was coming to an end.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy watched Dean quietly as she sat in the passenger's seat while he drove them back home. He was obviously in pain and having a hard time with the often finicky gearshift on the old truck. She wished she'd learned how to operate a manual transmission, but her meager driving experience had been limited to automatics. She desperately wanted to talk to him, however, she decided to wait until they were home and she'd had a chance to look at his arm. She knew he'd been cut, but now she was suspecting that there were other injuries as well.

When they arrived, he went inside without saying anything to her. He headed off toward the bedroom and she lagged behind, so that she could gather the first aid kit and also look for some heavy duty painkillers she knew he had stashed somewhere. She found them high up on a shelf in the linen closet. It was a prescription bottled labeled 'Oxycodone' and supposedly it was pretty powerful stuff. Of course, it was several years out-of-date, but hopefully it still had some kick. Once she found that, she hurried back to the kitchen to pour a glass of water.

When she entered the bedroom, she gasped when she saw the back side of Dean's shoulder. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, with his back to her and had been trying to remove the henley he was wearing. He'd only managed to get it partially removed and Buffy could see why. The entire area around his right shoulder blade was black and purple. There was no way he could use that arm to pull the shirt over his head. She placed the supplies on the dresser and hurried to help him.

Dean's face was a mask of pain and frustration, and she was pretty sure there was some embarrassment there as well. She understood that he didn't like to appear weak or needy, but in this case, he was just being ridiculous.

"Here," she said as she gently pulled the edges of the shirt from his hand. "Let me get this."

He allowed her to ease the garment over his head, but grunted and cursed under his breath when she began sliding it off of his injured shoulder.

"Sorry," she said as she bit her lower lip in sympathy. "I've almost got it."

She'd spoken too soon. The sleeve was caught. The blood from the cut had dried, gluing the sleeve to his forearm. She tugged at it gingerly, afraid she'd reopen the wound. Dean reached up and brushed her hand away.

"It's like ripping off a Band Aid," he said. "Gotta do it quick."

Despite what he'd said, he didn't just tear it off, but he did use more force than Buffy had used. She winced as she watched him pulling the fabric steadily away from the skin, but when she saw fresh blood begin to flow, she hurried to grab one of the clean cloths she'd brought with her, and immediately pressed it to the wound as soon as he finished uncovering it.

"Don't think it'll bleed too much," he remarked. "I wouldn't worry about it."

Buffy frowned at him. He looked so tired and sounded so beat down. He was right about the blood, however. To her relief, it didn't seem to bleed too much. She peeled back the cloth to get a good look at the cut. It was a puncture wound, actually. She couldn't tell how deep it was, due to the dried blood, but it didn't appear to be very long.

"Come on," she said as she grabbed his left hand and tugged lightly. "We need to rinse this thing out."

"Just leave it. It doesn't matter," he said a bit irritably.

"It matters to me," Buffy said firmly as she tugged a little harder.

He gave her an odd look, almost like she was speaking some strange language he didn't understand. But, to her relief, he rose with a deep sigh and let her lead him into the kitchen. The kitchen sink was deeper than the one in the bathroom and she wanted to make sure she could get his arm fully underneath the faucet. She supported the weight of his arm as she held it under the tap, not wanting him to strain his shoulder any more than he had to. Now that his shirt was completely off, she saw that the angry black and purple bruising was on both sides.

To her relief, the puncture wound didn't appear to be extremely deep. Definitely deep enough to have caused a fair amount of bleeding, but it hadn't gone to the bone as she'd feared. She was pretty sure that if she could get it cleaned out and keep infection from setting in, it would heal. Actually, his shoulder appeared to be the more severe injury, and there wasn't much she could do for that, aside from making him more comfortable.

Once she was satisfied that she'd rinsed the wound as well as she could, she turned off the tap and patted his arm dry with a clean washcloth.

"Sit," she said as she pointed toward the kitchen table. "I'll be right back."

"Who said you could be in charge?" he grumbled, but he didn't sound too serious. Mostly he just sounded tired.

Buffy didn't reply. Instead, she headed back to the bedroom to get the supplies she'd left behind. When she came back, he was sitting at the table as requested, but he was also struggling to open a bottle of whiskey by bracing it with his right arm and trying to twist off the top with his left hand. She promptly removed it from his grasp. He must have assumed she would open it for him, because he didn't protest until she took the bottle and placed it on the kitchen counter, well out of his current reach.

"What the hell?" he griped. "I could use some of that."

"Don't think so," she replied dryly. "I'm not a doctor, but I'm almost sure you're not supposed to mix alcohol with these," she said as she held up the bottle of painkillers. "In fact there's a little sticker right here that pretty clearly says 'no' to the mixing. It's not smart to argue with official looking labels."

Dean snorted. "Well, Dr. Dean would rather have the hooch…. Or both," he shrugged, but obviously immediately regretted the gesture since moving his shoulder was so painful. "Oh yeah," he groaned. "I could definitely use both."

Buffy shook two pills from the bottle and placed them in his hand. "Sorry, you only get these. No hooch, liquor, whiskey, booze, or alcohol by any other name."

Dean frowned at her and the glass of water she was holding out. He silently regarded the two pills in his hand for a second and then dropped one of them on the table and popped the other in his mouth.

"I'll stick to one," he said. "Can't afford to get too wasted."

It was Buffy's turn to frown as she watched him wash down the pill with a small sip of water. She was a little irritated that he didn't seem to feel safe letting his guard down with her. The past two nights she'd either been drugged into unconsciousness or out-of-her-head with a fever. She'd had to trust him, there wasn't a choice, but even if there was, she wouldn't have hesitated to put her life in his hands. It hurt to think he didn't feel the same.

She sat aside her bruised feelings and lifted his injured arm onto the table. Then she flipped the first aid kit open and dug through it until she produced a roll of gauze and a tube of antibiotic ointment, which was even more out-of-date than the pills had been. They sat in silence while she applied the ointment and then wrapped gauze around the wound and secured it with a few pieces of surgical tape. It wasn't exactly the greatest first aid job ever, but hopefully it would keep the wound clean and germ-free.

"Am I free to go, boss?" he asked with more than a hint of sarcasm.

"No," she replied as she met his gaze steadily. "I want you to tell me something first." Buffy took a deep breath before plowing forward. "Why did you do it, Dean? Why didn't you let them try to force me into killing Eric? I was supposed to be the one. You didn't have to take that on."

Dean looked surprised. "Where did you hear that?"

"Faith… but it doesn't matter, because I know it's true. I just need you to tell me why."

He stared at her for a moment, then looked away before answering. "Because that whole mess was on me. I fucked up, Buffy. Joe told me to keep my cool before I went in to see Travers, but I didn't. I pissed him off. Tried to break the bastard's neck," he said with a bitter laugh. "That's why he did it… and I couldn't let anybody else pay for my mistake… couldn't let them put that on you," he added quietly.

Buffy twined her fingers in the hand that was still lying on the tabletop. She tried to meet his gaze, but he seemed determined not to look at her.

"That's not true, Dean," she said softly. "Whatever you did or didn't do… it doesn't matter. He does this in every town. Faith told me. It was going to happen, no matter what. According to her, it's always the same story, except the slayer is the one who's supposed to carry out the execution. That's the only thing that changed this time around."

He finally looked up at her and his eyes were swimming with emotion. Then he drew his brows together and his demeanor changed instantly.

"What else did Faith tell you?" he asked suspiciously.

Buffy was a bit caught off guard by his reaction, but after a moment she turned the suspicion right back on him. "Nothing. What else _could_ she tell me? Does she have something to do with your top secret plans, Dean? The ones you don't seem to trust me with. Are you saying you trust her, but you don't trust me?" She wasn't able to keep the hurt and anger out of her voice as she spoke. She hated herself for it, but she felt tears welling up in her eyes.

"Dammit, Buffy," Dean snapped. "That's stupid as hell! You know that's not what's going on here. Why would you even think something like that?"

Tears spilled over as Buffy's overtaxed emotions finally took over. "Because you never tell me anything! What am I supposed to think? Everything's some big secret with you. Do you think I'm psychic or do you think I'm just too stupid…? Nevermind," she said as she trailed off and tried to wipe her tears away. "I'm sorry, I forgot. I'm just your slave girl. I'm supposed to shut my mouth, open my legs, and do as I'm told. I don't need to know why."

Dean grabbed the hand she'd pulled away from him and held it firmly. "I'm sorry, Buffy," he said quietly. "I'm so sorry for… for everything. You deserve a whole hell of a lot better."

He reached out with his good arm and wiped at her tears, but he didn't make a move to embrace her as Buffy was hoping he would. He just lowered his hand to her shoulder and played with a lock of her hair as he spoke.

"I promise you'll know everything soon. It's just not safe for you to know yet."

"But it's safe for Faith to know," she added accusingly.

"Doubt it," he said with a humorless laugh. "Truth is, it's not safe for any of us. But if something happens to Faith, I'd hate it, but I could live with it," he said flatly. "I've seen a lot of death and a lot of suffering and all sorts of ugly shit that nobody…" He trailed off and Buffy could once again see the barely contained emotion in his eyes. "It kinda gets to a point where you don't feel it anymore. You just get numb. It sucks, but you finally realize that you can't do anything about any of it. So, you shove it to the back and keep moving. But I can't push it back if it's you," he said in a voice thick with emotion. "I just can't. You can't ask me to, because I can't go there. So, believe me when I tell you that this isn't about me not trusting you. I trust you, Buffy…Way more than I trust myself. Sometimes, I think you're the only good thing left in this shithole of a world."

Buffy felt like she should argue with Dean; demand that he let her in on his plans and let her share the burden for once. But, she was too caught up in his words and in the look in his eyes. He hadn't said that he loved her, but yet, he had. He'd said that and a whole lot more. And after everything that had happened over the past few days - days that felt more like weeks - she wanted to be in his arms. She just wanted to forget it all for a little while, and be with the man she loved. The man she was finally convinced loved her back.

She rose from her seat and held out a hand toward him. "Let's just go to bed now," she said softly. "But, be warned, because in the morning, I'm going to force you to tell me what's going on. Spell or no spell, I can still nag you to death if I have to. I hope you realize that," she informed him with a small smile.

"You'll know by tomorrow," he agreed, but he didn't return her smile.

XXXXXXXXXX

Things seemed awkward when they got to the bedroom. Dean just stood looking at her, feeling incredibly lost. More than anything, he wanted to make love to her one more time. After tonight, she'd be gone and he'd never get another chance. But, he'd taken advantage of her enough already. Her tears had nearly ripped him apart. She felt like a thing, a possession, and the cruel irony was that he'd bought her so she wouldn't have to face that future. He should have known that he would fail her. He was far too broken. This world had fucked him up almost beyond recognition. If he'd only met her sooner… years ago, before he'd become this empty shell of himself.

Buffy startled him slightly when she gently pushed him toward the bed. He sat mechanically on the edge of the mattress, still mostly lost in his thoughts.

"Sit. You can't go to bed in boots, and it's kinda hard to get them off while you're standing up."

She was smiling at him and it made him want to cry. God he was slipping. Maybe he'd pull a Sam when she was gone and finally have a complete break from reality. He could go utterly batshit and take off into the wilderness in his underwear, armed only with a butter knife, or something insanely wackadoo like that. The freaks might even be scared of him. The idea was strangely appealing. How he'd managed to keep his sanity this long was a goddamned mystery.

He felt Buffy's hands at his waist and looked down to see her unbuttoning his fly.

"You won't need these," she said with a sly grin.

Dean gave her a sad smile in return and placed his hands over hers.

"You don't have to do this."

She gave him another one of her brilliant smiles and rolled her eyes at him. "I know that. Always have. It's not exactly a closely guarded secret."

Okay, maybe Dean had already lost it. Because he wasn't sure what she was talking about. He didn't have long to ponder it though, because once she reached inside his jeans and wrapped her hand around his cock, coherent thought was no longer possible. His desire for her took over, and his body seemed to act on its own. He found himself raising off the bed long enough to start pushing his jeans off his hips, and groaned in frustration at the awkwardness of trying to do it one-handed. His right shoulder was starting to stiffen up, leaving that arm almost completely useless.

Buffy quickly stepped in to help and with one tug, his jeans and boxers were down around his ankles. He kicked them completely off, never taking his eyes off of Buffy. That smile of hers had him mesmerized. He was only vaguely aware of following her order to lie down.

"Think I should take this off?" she asked with a coy smile. She was holding the edge of her sweater up just enough that he could see her bare midriff peeking out. When he didn't reply, she reached down and ran the tip of one finger lightly across his balls. It made him shiver and his dick twitched in response, but she didn't touch him any further. She was teasing him.

"Do I have your attention? Or do you want me to keep all these clothes on? Cuz, I can."

"Oh God no," he said quickly. "Take 'em off. Burn the bitches if you have to…"

Buffy grinned happily and began slowly peeling off her sweater, wriggling sensuously as she did. She was giving him a strip tease. Before revealing each new bit of skin, she'd ask him if he wanted to see more.

"Oh, hell yeah," he heard himself agree. His libido was pulling him into the moment and he didn't try to stop it. He was going to let himself enjoy getting lost in her just one more time.

Once she was stripped bare, she crawled slowly up his body, making a trail with her hot little tongue as she went. When their lips met, he reached between her thighs and found her already soaking wet folds. She was always like hot, wet silk. He sucked on her bottom lip as his fingers worked overtime to make her even hornier, and she moaned into his mouth in response.

"I need to taste you," he murmured as he began nibbling at her neck while still rubbing her swollen clit. "Help a gimp out. Bring the pussy to me," he teased.

Buffy straddled his face, obviously being careful to avoid his injured shoulder. He didn't care though. The pain was very far away right now. He licked her slit slowly, dipping his tongue inside of her before sucking her clit into his mouth. He could tell when she was close, because her breath would always hitch in her throat and her delicious little moans would become almost desperate. He pushed it as far as he could without sending her over the edge and then he stopped.

"Uhhh," she protested breathlessly.

"It's okay, baby. You'll make it. Don't rush me," he scolded as he delivered a sharp slap to her ass. He groaned deep in his throat when the action brought a new rush of moisture from her core. "I need to make sure I get the full experience," he explained. "A man should stop and smell the roses." He inhaled deeply, breathing her in.

"Dean," she gasped, sounding a little shocked. He chuckled and bit the inside of her thigh lightly. He loved that he could still manage to embarrass her.

"Come on, Buffy," he teased. "Don't be so uptight. Not my fault you smell so good… taste so sweet." He resumed his assault on her clit and this time, he allowed her to climax. She completely lost it and ground herself against his mouth as he drank in her juices. He felt the need to devour her completely, so that he'd never forget one tiny detail of what it was like to be with her.

Her quivering had barely begun to subside when she pulled away, and with almost blinding speed, she impaled herself on his rock hard dick. They both cried out at the intense sensation. Her inner walls were still quivering and she was so tight, it was almost painful. Dean moaned in ecstasy, as he concentrated on the feeling of being buried in her slick, hot channel again. He wanted to let himself go inside of her, to give in and claim her completely. For a brief moment he didn't care about the consequences, but he pushed those thoughts aside with a deep pang of regret. Then she began to move above him and he forgot about his impending loss for the moment and just let himself get lost in her.

He opened his eyes and watched her as she rode him. She was so beautiful and incredibly graceful. Her mouth hung slightly open as she threw back her head and bit her bottom lip, increasing the pace, slamming herself down on him harder and faster. He barely blinked, because he wanted to sear this vision into his memory. His deep state of concentration must have caused him to be unusually quiet, however, because she opened her eyes and stilled her movements.

She was breathing heavily and her face was flushed with passion, but she somehow managed to still look a little shy. "You make a girl kind of self-conscious when you stare like that," she said softly.

Dean smiled at her and reached up to slowly run his hand down her body, memorizing the feel of every curve. "Sorry… can't help it. You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's kinda hard not to stare. Want to make sure I remember everything," he said almost in a whisper.

Buffy wrinkled her brow and gazed at him curiously, but he stopped her wandering mind by pressing his thumb against her engorged clit. She whimpered as he once again brought her extremely close and then pulled his hand away. That lit a fire in her and she began riding him hard again, grinding her clit into his pelvis. When he felt her begin to come apart around him, he flipped her and began pounding into her with an almost violent desperation. She called his name as her inner muscles rippled around him. He loved it when she came on him, drenching his cock in her juices, squeezing him tighter and tighter. He babbled almost uncontrollably. He wasn't sure what he was saying. Endearments, praise, profanity… it was all jumbled together. Finally he couldn't take anymore and he pulled out of her and spilled himself onto the sheets, forcing back the selfish urge to try and send her back with some part of him.

When he was completely spent, he slumped against her, breathing raggedly against her throat. He was vaguely aware that he was probably crushing her, but didn't seem able to do anything about it.

"Dean, your shoulder," she said urgently.

"To hell with the damn shoulder," he replied, but her words had brought him back to himself enough to roll off of her.

She snuggled against his left side and laid her head on his uninjured shoulder. "You sure you're not hurt?"

"I'm fine," he said as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was only a partial lie. His shoulder wasn't hurting, or if it was, he wasn't registering it. His pain went much deeper than a few pulled tendons.

He lay there with her for as long as he could. She'd fallen asleep quickly and he'd lain there, stroking her back and hair, and just watching her sleep. He realized he was only delaying the inevitable. He'd have to get up soon. He had to meet Giles and Faith, and he had one important stop he had to make before doing that. The time had finally come. He'd have to let her go.


	12. Chapter 12

**~ Chapter 12 ~**

Buffy realized she was dreaming. Slayer dreams had a unique, almost lucid quality about them, so she almost always knew when she was in one. Not that knowing made them any less strange.

She was in her mom's kitchen in Sunnydale. Although, technically, it wasn't her mom's anymore, hadn't been for almost a year. But Buffy would always think of it as hers and imagine Mom standing there making Dawn a bowl of cereal or pouring herself a cup of coffee, all while refereeing the required morning argument between the two sisters that was usually about a whole lot of nothing. Even though she knew her mother was gone, her heart still sunk when she didn't see her standing by the countertop. She just wanted to see her again, even if it wasn't real. However, it was Faith she saw standing in her mom's usual spot instead.

"Faith? What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hey B," she greeted her nonchalantly. "I'm watching the scales. Gotta make sure they stay balanced… otherwise," she shrugged. "Well, it gets kinda bad. Old, wicked-scary evil sorta bad."

Buffy didn't understand what Faith was talking about. It only got weirder when the other girl stood aside to show her a pair of old fashioned scales that were sitting on the counter. They were the type you see in old movies or in depictions of Lady Justice and things like that. At the moment, both sides of the scale were hanging evenly and each appeared to hold an identical pile of sand.

"Looks balanced to me."

"Yeah," Faith agreed. "But look." She picked up a tiny grain of sand and dropped it on one side of the scale. The side she'd dropped it on immediately tipped lower, way lower than Buffy would think possible, considering it was only one single grain of sand.

"Wow. Sensitive scale."

"Tell me about it! There's only supposed to be one of us, you know. It really pisses the scale off when there's two."

Buffy laughed. "Okay, angry scales. _Check._ So, I'm guessing you're my Faith, I mean my old Faith… Never mind," she said with a wave of her hand. "Just trust me. In some places there are way more than only two slayers."

"Yeah, but they have different scales there. We can't all share the same one. That would just be confusing as hell."

"Okaaay."

"I was real sorry to hear what happened to you," Faith said sincerely. "You know, about how you died. Angel told me. He was my one and only pen pal when I was in the big house," she explained. "Anyway… I know we weren't exactly close, but … well, it still kinda hurt and stuff. So, ya know… I'm sorry."

Buffy smiled at Faith. She was looking characteristically uncomfortable with the whole 'talking about feelings' thing. It definitely reminded her of someone else she knew. "Thanks Faith. But I'm okay. I didn't exactly die."

"Yeah, kinda figured that one out when Willow tried to bring you back. Story was, it didn't work because you weren't really behind the veil after all. Then that crazy Anya chick said it was cause Glory was trying to open a door between all those dimensions. Kept sayin' how you could've been sucked into any one of them. I told her I'd smack her if she ever mentioned that wacked out shrimp-world theory in front of Dawn."

"Don't worry, definitely not in shrimp-world… So, how is Dawn?"

Faith smiled. "Good. I mean, ya know… she misses you, but she's doing good. She got straight A's and there's this goofy boy she's sorta seeing. He's cute, but a serious geek. Nice kid though."

Buffy's eyes felt a bit misty. "That's good. I'm glad Dawn's finally getting to be a kid."

"That is why you jumped. Your gift and all that…" She paused, and gazed at Buffy uncertainly. "He loves you, you know" she finally said, "but he thinks you're miserable and he doesn't want to keep you just because he needs you. Dumbass doesn't realize they all need you. The gift thing was a little bigger than you thought. It wasn't just about Dawn. Ya know?"

"Not really," Buffy replied. "I mean, I know you're pretty much required to make almost zero sense in these dreams, but how about a little clarity? Just this once, can we put away the metaphors and the vagueness? I've had a _really_ bad week. This girl's brain is fried. Plain English, short sentences… How 'bout it?"

"Sorry B," Faith shrugged. "There's somebody knockin'. You gotta go."

Buffy started to argue, but Faith had faded along with her mom's kitchen. She found herself alone in the bed, staring at the glowing hands on the bedside clock which currently read 2:30 A.M. A frantic banging sound could be heard in the distance, and it took her a few seconds to register what it was. Somebody was knocking.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy clutched her bathrobe around her as she stood staring at Noah, trying to imagine why the boy was banging on their door in the middle of the night. And, more importantly, where was Dean?

"Can I come in?" he asked urgently.

"Uh sure," she said as she stood back. "Come in… Ummm, can I ask what you're doing here?"

"Here," he said as he shoved a piece of paper and a small bundle wrapped in a scrap of denim into her hands. "I was only s'posed to bring this to you if I didn't see Dean before sunrise… But," he admitted sheepishly, "I kinda read the letter. Thought you should see it."

Buffy gazed at him curiously and unfolded the letter as a feeling of dread began to take root inside of her. She recognized the paper. It was a piece from the journal Dean was always looking at. On the outside was a list of names and numbers that she didn't recognize. Obviously, it was something from a time when people actually had phones. When she unfolded the paper, she saw that the other side was addressed to her and she immediately recognized Dean's handwriting.

_Buffy,_

_If you're reading this, you know how the story goes. Just assume I finally bit it for good. _

_I tried to find out how to break the binding spells, but obviously that didn't work out. I figured Travers wouldn't have much power if he couldn't control the slayers. It was a long shot, but I wanted to make sure you'd be safe from the Council. Guess I screwed the pooch on that one. _

_They'll be coming for you, Buffy. You have to run. You can't let Travers and the rest of those bastards get to you. Please don't stick around here and try to take them on by yourself. That's all I'm asking. The hex bag I made should keep you off their radar, make sure you keep it with you at all times. One of these kept me and my brother hidden from both Heaven and Hell once, so I'm hoping it can stand up to whatever mojo the Council has. Wish I could have given you something better._

_I wanted you to know that I'm sorry for everything. I know you were never really mine, but you were still the best thing I ever had and I loved you more than anything. Guess I just sucked at showing it. Believe it or not, I was mostly a dick because I thought it would keep you alive, which sounds stupid as hell when I see it written down on paper. Just please try to take care of yourself and be careful who you trust out there. This place is swimming with sick bastards, but guess you know that already._

_Dean_

There was more in the last paragraph, but it had been scratched through to the point that it was unreadable. Obviously he had changed his mind about what to write quite a few times. The letter was basically a mess because of it, but Buffy wasn't really concerned about the unidentifiable text at the moment. She was worried about Dean and what he was doing, and also more than a little pissed that he was off risking his life behind her back.

"Where is he?" she demanded.

"I don't know! He wouldn't tell me anything. This is bad, ain't it? We've gotta find him."

Buffy took a deep breath as she struggled to gather her thoughts. "No," she said firmly. "_I_ need to find him. You need to go home."

"But—"

"I'm serious. No arguments. Go home, Noah. I'm the Slayer. I've got this."

He stood looking uncertainly at her for a moment before saying, "Sorry I read your letter. I just thought… I-It's just that Dean was acting really weird."

Buffy pulled the obviously embarrassed boy into a quick hug and also gave him a kiss on the cheek, which managed to turn his face beet red. "Thank you," she said simply. "It was the right call. Now go home. I'll find him."

XXXXXXXXXX

"You want to know how to free the slayers… _fascinating_. What makes you think I care or that I'd want to help you?" Crowley asked as he stood looking rather bored inside of the devil's trap they'd summoned him into.

Dean had a really bad feeling about this. Crowley could spring himself from the trap any time he wanted. He'd told Giles that, but the dumbass didn't seem to want to listen to him. This whole plan was nine kinds of crazy, but it was the only game in town.

"I have something to offer," Giles replied calmly.

Crowley rolled his eyes. "What's that, Ripper? Don't tell me you're wagering your ratty old soul. This may come as a surprise, but I've got a good feeling you're headed my way anyway."

Giles chuckled. He appeared unconcerned. "No, not my soul. My offer is much more interesting than that."

"You don't say. Let me guess, poor tragic little Dean here is putting his handsome head on the block again. I know you can't help but play the martyr, you hopeless moron, but I wouldn't take your soul if you begged me. Not sure what will happen to you when your time finally comes. I happen to have it on good authority that no one upstairs is particularly looking forward to seeing you again either. It's shocking."

"Bite me."

Crowley raised a brow and grinned. "Rather not." He paused and regarded Faith for a long moment. "I wouldn't say no to you, love. Never had a slayer on the rack before. I'm sure it would prove very entertaining. What do you say? Care to deal?"

"Her soul is not on offer here," Giles said harshly, before Faith could even open her mouth to reply.

"Very well then, Rupert. I'm tired of the guessing game. I happen to be a very busy man."

"Willow," Giles said as he glanced to the side.

The witch stepped forward, holding a large glowing crystal in her outstretched hands. Dean was still trying to get over the fact that this cute, harmless looking little redhead was the same witch he'd seen earlier. Supposedly she'd been using what she called a 'glamour' to make herself appear hideous. She didn't want the other Council members to know what she really looked like, mainly because she was trying to screw them all over behind their backs. Dean decided that was a pretty good reason and a damn smart thing to do.

"What's that?" Crowley asked, still sounding bored.

"It holds a friend of yours," the girl said as she raised her chin. She was obviously trying not to sound terrified.

"A friend?" the demon inquired with raised brows. "And who would that be? Afraid I don't have any friends. I have plenty of enemies and even more minions, but none I'd call friend."

"That crystal holds Abaddon," Giles replied, sounding much more confident than Willow. "I believe he was once Lucifer's chief advisor. I'm told he was a quite powerful demon. I'm sure Hell would like to have him back."

Crowley threw back his head and laughed. Dean cringed. This was officially the dumbest plan ever. They were all screwed. The Watcher had promised him that he had leverage. Apparently he'd been talking about the contents of that stupid crystal, which was clearly not cutting it.

"Tell you what," Crowley said with a smile. "Just for giving me a good laugh, I won't be slowly eviscerating you all tonight. Plus, I'll let you keep dear old Abby there as a consolation prize. The previous administration may have wanted him back, but the current one most certainly does not. I've no use for him, I'm afraid. Don't fancy the competition."

"Then tell us how to reverse the spells or we'll… we'll just set him free," Willow challenged in a quivery voice.

With one snap of his fingers, Crowley managed to put a large crack in the devil's trap and with a second, the glowing crystal was resting in his hands instead of Willow's. "Oops. Seems you've lost your pretty crystal there pet. Afraid I'll have to decline your generous offer."

"Think again, asshole," Faith said as she ran forward, despite Dean's warning, and tried to snatch the crystal away. Crowley casually grabbed her arm and twisted and crushed it cruelly. Her cry of pain was unable to drown out the unmistakable sound of bones breaking. She crumpled to the floor in agony with Giles kneeling by her side.

After a brief and disinterested glance in the direction of the injured slayer, Crowley shrugged and caught Dean's eye. "If you summon me again, I will personally feed you to my largest hellhound… over and over again, for all eternity," he emphasized coldly.

"Noted, now fuck off," Dean replied through gritted teeth.

"Lovely and eloquent as always. As usual, I'm charmed. Now I really must be going. I have things to do and you lot will be extremely busy, extremely soon. It seems the Council has found you out… and, oh yeah, you've got another visitor on the way too," he added with a wink before disappearing into thin air.

Dean immediately whirled on Giles. "Dude, what the fuck was that? We're screwed now. I told you man… I friggin told you!"

"Rot in hell," the other man snapped back as he reluctantly tore his eyes away from Faith. "Why don't you save your wisdom until after we've figured out how in the bloody hell we're getting out of here!"

Before Dean had a chance to yell back at Giles, the front door was kicked open, revealing an extremely angry looking Buffy. She stood with her hands on her hips and one-by-one she gave each occupant of the room a scorching death-glare, until her eyes fell on the witch. Then her mouth fell open in shock.

"_Willow?" _

The other girl looked almost as surprised herself. "Do we know each other?" she asked hesitantly.

"Never mind," Buffy snapped. "We don't have time for this. Quentin Travers and every single member of his personal guard are on their way here. _Right now_. Lucky for you, they're not exactly big on the stealth tonight. I could hear them coming a mile away. We have to move. Now!"

"Do it Willow," Dean demanded. "Do it now. You heard her. We don't have much time."

"No," Faith gasped out. It was obviously difficult for her to talk through the pain. "You can't… _Giles_," she said, imploring him to back her up.

"Don't do it Willow," he ordered off of Faith's pleading gaze. "We can use all the help we can get here. Your plan didn't work, Dean. The deal is off."

"My plan? _Oh hell no._ That wasn't my plan. That was your stupid ass plan," he emphasized as he pointed a finger at Giles. "I did my part! I summoned Crowley. The rest was up to you and you royally fucked it up!" Dean turned his back on the Watcher and looked over at Willow once again. "Please," he pleaded. "You promised me you would do it and I told you guys not to mess with Crowley. Don't make her pay for our screw up."

Willow gazed at him for a long moment. She was obviously torn and unsure of what she should do. In the end, her sympathy obviously won the battle and she nodded slowly. "Okay. You're right. A deal's a deal. I'll do it. But we have to hurry."

"Willow!" Giles warned. But she shut him up with an expression so stern, Dean couldn't believe it was coming from the same girl. Faith continued to protest as well, but it fell on deaf ears. Willow pulled a small jar from the bag she was carrying and began sprinkling its contents and chanting.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy had no idea what was happening or what sort of magic this other version of Willow was trying to work, but she sensed it was something she wasn't going to like.

"Dean!" she said as she grabbed him by the left shoulder. As irritated as she was, she was still mindful of his injury. "What's going on? What is Willow doing?"

"It's okay, Buffy," he said. "I promise, you'll be safe from Travers. Those dicks won't be able to touch you… and you can finally be happy."

"Dean, I don't –" The rest of Buffy's sentence was cut off when he crushed her in both of his arms. She automatically wrapped her arms around him and returned the embrace. It was obvious that he was in pain and she couldn't help herself.

"It's time, Dean," came Willow's urgent voice from behind Buffy. "We have to do it now."

"_Do what?"_ Buffy demanded when he pulled back and gazed at whatever was behind her, a combination of awe and fear settling across his features. He didn't answer though; he just leaned forward and kissed her gently on the forehead. When he looked at her again, a tear had escaped his eyes. Pure terror gripped her, twisting her gut in knots as she spun around to see what was behind her. Whatever he was looking at, it had to be something horrible. She decided immediately that she was right. It was horrible. It was obviously a portal, and it reminded her of the ones that both Angel and Glory had tried to open, both of which had been designed to suck the world into hell.

"No," she said desperately. "Dean, no! Listen to me. You have to listen. I don't -" But he looked determined as he gripped her by the arms and began to shove her.

"Stop it!" Buffy heard Faith yelling as she stumbled backwards. "Dammit Dean, you're not supposed to do this! Don't be a-"

Buffy didn't get a chance to hear the rest of what Faith had to say. She was falling through space and she could no longer see or breathe. Then, just as she was about to lose consciousness, she hit solid ground again and fell stumbling to her knees. The familiar burn of road rash on her outstretched palms let her know she was now on blacktop. For a long time, she just stared at her scraped hands, which she was able to clearly see with the help of some nearby streetlights and the full moon shining overhead. She was afraid to look up, because in her heart she knew what she'd see. She had to face it though; she couldn't just sit here forever. So, she forced her gaze upward toward the now quiet and empty tower that she'd once jumped from in another life. She was back in Sunnydale.


	13. Chapter 13

**~Chapter 13~**

Travers and his Council buddies showed up about thirty seconds after the portal that took Buffy away had disappeared. Willow managed to restore her magical disguise just in time to avoid them seeing her true face, although Dean wasn't sure what the point of that was. He was just damned glad to have the witch on his side, which was definitely a new experience for him. She had thrown up a magical, bulletproof force field that allowed them enough time to make a run for it. The only place to go of course was outside the fence, which was probably more dangerous than staying in town and facing Travers head on. But they needed time to regroup and they needed more weapons, so it was the only option.

For once, fate had been on Dean's side. They hadn't actually run into that many freaks out beyond the gates. Of course, it was only an hour or two before dawn by the time they headed out. Most things preferred the night and, thankfully, the few that didn't were fairly easily done away with by the combined efforts of the four. He had to hand it to Faith. She'd held her own in the fighting, even though her right arm was completely useless and she had to be in a hell of a lot of pain.

They were all confident that Travers didn't have the balls to go beyond the gates, not before sunrise anyway. But even after sunrise, they kept going, thinking it was best to put as much distance between themselves and the town as possible before stopping. Willow also worked out a shielding spell that she hoped would help hide them from whatever magic the Council might use to track them.

Judging from the angle of the sun, it was around eight in the morning by the time they finally decided to stop and try to get some sleep. Everyone was past exhaustion and somebody had to do something about Faith's arm. Plus, it was damn cold outside.

They'd traveled north and Dean guessed they were probably somewhere in Bumfuck, Kentucky. What used to be Bumfuck, Kentucky anyway. Truth was, none of those borders really meant anything anymore. The only important thing was that they were in the middle of the woods and they desperately needed some shelter. Even a cave would be welcome at this point, but what they saw up ahead may or may not have been better. Dean had spotted a chimney peeking up above the tree line, probably from a hunting cabin, judging from the fact that the structure was out in the middle of nowhere. Problem was, there was smoke coming from the chimney. Somebody had already moved in, and in Dean's experience, that was rarely a good thing. Most folks weren't too eager to roll out the welcome mat these days.

"What do you guys think?" Willow asked as she chewed her bottom lip with a worried frown (thank god she'd ditched her disguise again and no longer looked like a circus freak). "I mean… I know the four of us could pretty much get rid of anybody, but… well, I hate to kick somebody out in the middle of the monster infested woods... in December. That's just not nice."

Dean let out a small laugh, despite himself. He'd decided he liked this chick. She was totally not what he'd expected from a powerful witch.

"We don't have to kick 'em out," he replied. "We just need to encourage their cooperation. But, if they wanna be dicks about it, then we kick 'em out."

"Agreed," Giles said coldly. It was one of the few words he'd actually spoken to Dean since they'd gone on the run. Dude was pissed at him about the Buffy situation and so was Faith. He guessed they wanted her as backup, but that was never part of the deal. They could bite his ass.

XXXXXXXXXX

Faith and Giles went around to the back of the cabin while Willow and Dean took the front. Dean drew his pistol before knocking, but kept it pointed at the ground, hoping that would signal the fact that he wasn't necessarily looking for trouble, but was ready for it if it came.

The barrel of a sawed-off shotgun was the first thing that came through the door, so Dean raised his pistol, deciding there was going to be trouble after all. But when he looked up to see the face of the man holding the shotgun, he almost dropped his gun. To be quite honest, he almost passed out.

"Dean!" exclaimed an extremely familiar voice that sounded just as stunned as he felt. Then before he knew it, he was wrapped in roughly twenty feet of octopus-like arms, extremely strong octopus arms too. It was Sam. It was really Sam… or at least he hoped it was.

"Dean, _dude_… oh my god! I've been looking for you… I knew we were close, but…" his brother trailed off and proceeded to try and crush his ribs.

"Sammy," he managed to croak out. After everything that had happened, he was seriously about to lose his shit. Caution dictated that he do all sorts of tests to make sure he wasn't wrapped in the arms of some freak wearing his baby brother's face, but it was all he could do to not start bawling like a baby.

"I guess you two know each other?" Willow asked hesitantly.

Sam drew back and smiled at Willow. Dean noticed that even though he was a couple years older and wearing a scruffy beard, he still had the same disarming, boyish grin. The one that never failed to put everyone at ease despite the fact that the guy was roughly the size of a small tank.

"I'm Dean's brother. My name's Sam," he said as he held out a hand for Willow to shake, all while keeping his arm wrapped tightly around Dean's shoulders. Dean felt the urge to laugh hysterically. Dude was actually trying to shake hands like there was some sort of civility left in the world. Damn. This _was_ Sam. It had to be. No monster could be that big of a dork.

"Hi Sam," Willow said with an uncertain smile, although she did return the handshake. "I-I'm Willow. I… we… well, we're kinda running for our lives right now," she added with the sort of inappropriate and hysterical giggle one uses when they're stressed the fuck out and haven't had any sleep.

Sam's smile broadened and he shrugged. "Well, you are with my big brother. Trouble knows how to find him… and me," he added quickly. "Truth is, we Winchesters are kinda cursed. So, welcome to the club. Come in," he said as he swung the door open wider. "It's cold outside and we've got a good fire going."

XXXXXXXXXX

The introductions were awkward, to say the least. Faith and Giles were suspicious as hell, not that Dean blamed them. Paranoia and suspicion were the only reason anyone was still left alive in the world. But the girl Sam was traveling with had this almost freaky calming effect on people. She was quiet and obviously painfully shy, but she also had a way of cutting through the bullshit and making sure things got done. It took her about two seconds to convince Faith that she needed to let her set her arm. That was a damn accomplishment, since that chick was even less trusting than Dean, if that was even possible.

While that was going on, Dean managed to draw his brother aside to try and get a handle on where the hell he'd been all this time and how he'd come to be staying within mere miles of the town Dean had been living in for the past year.

"Where's Bobby?" Sam asked almost immediately. From the look on his face, Dean was pretty sure he already knew the answer to that question, but obviously he had to ask.

"Didn't make it."

Sam swallowed hard and was quiet for a moment. "I'm sorry, Dean," he finally said. "Maybe if I'd been there…"

Dean shook his head. "No, man. There was nothing you could do. Nothing got him. He just got sick."

"Oh."

It was just one tiny syllable, but Dean knew what it meant. There was something unbelievable about the fact that Bobby had just gotten sick and died. Bobby was supposed to be immortal. At least he'd always seemed to be.

"I didn't know who I was," Sam said, interrupting Dean's thoughts. "I was totally wacked-out, dude. I couldn't even remember my own name. I don't know how long I wondered around before Tara found me. She saved my life, man. Helped me find myself again, taught me how to push back the memories... how to build my own wall. Aside from you, I owe her more than anyone."

"Sorry I quit looking, Sam. I was out there almost a year and I just thought…"

His brother smiled at him. "It's okay, Dean. I'd have left me for dead too. You had to take care of yourself for once." Sam ignored his sarcastic snort and continued on. "We've been looking for you for months, man. Tara's actually a pretty powerful Wicca. After we found the Impala, she was able to pick up your essence from it or something like that… Anyway, she used it to do a tracking spell. We've been headed this way ever since."

Dean smiled a little at the mention of his car. "How is my baby?"

"She's good. I know she's already in a barn, but I covered her with a tarp too."

"Awesome. Thanks dude," Dean replied with a nod. "So, you and that Tara chick… guess you're pretty tight?" he asked with a smirk and raised brow.

"No, man, it's not like that. Tara's just a really good friend. She's awesome, but I'm not exactly her type."

"Sorry Sammy. Guess she doesn't go for giant geeks, huh?" he teased. He didn't feel like joking around, but with Sam, it was just a reflex.

"Not the male ones."

"Ahhh… okay," Dean nodded in understanding. "That sucks for you, dude. She's cute."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean had to get the fuck away from everybody before he flipped and did or said something he'd regret. Once Faith's arm had been set and she'd drunk some hippie painkilling tea that Willow and Tara had made, she laid into his ass. Giles had helped of course, but Faith was the most pissed. She kept going on and on about some freaky-ass dream she'd had and how she _knew_ Buffy wasn't supposed to go back to her world. And she also called him every variety of dumbass that existed, claiming Buffy didn't want to go back, that she wanted to stay here with him _"for some fucked up reason"_. As much as he'd love to believe otherwise, Dean knew that part was bullshit, because he happened to know things Faith didn't. Buffy hated this world so much that she'd rather die than be here. She'd as much as told him so.

Then there was the excruciatingly uncomfortable moment when Sam put two and two together and realized that Dean had been one of 'those hunters'. One of the shady bastards that had a slayer bound to him. The guy looked like he was going to have a stroke until Dean explained that Buffy wasn't a fifteen-year-old kid. But still, his brother didn't look very happy about the situation and Dean couldn't take the damning, disappointed look in his eyes, so he slunk off to the kitchen to try and find something to drink. And once he did, he settled at the kitchen table and proceeded to try and numb his brain down to a dull roar.

It wasn't long before he heard the shuffle of feet on the floor behind him, and even after almost two years apart, Dean didn't have to look up to see who was coming. Hell, even if it had been two-hundred years, he doubted he'd forget the sound of Sam's footsteps or fail to predict when his brother would come to try and draw him into a 'talk'.

He managed a smile. It wasn't much of one, but it was something, and Sam was definitely the only human left on this earth that could cause him to even make the effort. "Hi ya, Sammy. Want a drink?" he asked as he held up the bottle of cooking sherry he'd managed to dig out of one of the kitchen cabinets.

Disapproval shone in his brother's eyes. "No, Dean. I'll pass. I'm pretty sure you're not actually supposed to drink that stuff."

Dean tried to make light of the situation. Anything to distract Sam from delivering what he knew was going to either be a heartfelt speech, a bitching out, or a combination of both. "Come on dude, this is the good stuff." He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out the small bottle of vanilla extract he'd also found and held it up for Sam to see. "This is what I'm saving for hard times. Stuff tastes like vanilla flavored ass, but its almost 70 proof."

"Dean…"

His name hung in the air, full of all sorts of unpleasant implications. As relieved as he was to see Sam again, he couldn't take this crap right now. He could barely breathe as it was. It felt like the walls were closing in on him.

"Sam, please don't start this. I love you, man, but I am so not in the mood for one of your speeches. Just sit here and have a drink with me… or hell, just sit here. Tell me about … I don't know… something, anything."

His brother pulled out a chair and sat beside him at the dusty old table. He was trying hard to catch Dean's gaze, but he kept his focus on the bottle in his hand instead. There was a combination of pity and disappointment in his brother's eyes that Dean just couldn't stand to see right now.

"Why do you do this crap, Dean?"

"Because there's a severe shortage of good booze. I know I need to learn how to brew my own, but until then, I have to drink what's available."

"You know that's not what I'm talking about," Sam said with a sad shake of his head. A head that was even shaggier than it used to be. "I mean, why do you always make decisions for everybody? I know you mean well, but you're not the only one who gets to decide. Couldn't you have at least asked her what she wanted first? Dean, it sounds like you shoved a terrified girl into an inter-dimensional port! That's several levels of fucked-up, dude."

Dean gritted his teeth and downed the bottle of vanilla extract in one swallow. Fuck saving it for hard times. This was hard times.

"I knew what she wanted. She told me. Besides, that wasn't how it was supposed to go down. I had it all planned out, okay? I was gonna tell her what was happening and then I was gonna give her a big speech before she went. Tell her how she was the love of my life and all that sappy crap. I had it all planned out, man. It deserved its own freakin soundtrack. You woulda loved it," he spat bitterly. "But there wasn't time. Everything went to shit and I had to do it before the Council caught up with us. You don't know what they would have done to her. _I do_. So, please Sammy. I'm begging you. Cut me some slack. I've failed everybody I've ever loved. It's what I do. You know that. I wasn't gonna fail her too."

Dean felt like he'd hit the lottery when his brother reached out to take a drink from the crappy bottle of cooking sherry and then fell silent beside him. He just needed Sam to be there and he needed somebody who wasn't determined to judge him. He had enough guilt of his own without having everybody jumping his shit from all sides.

"You know something?" Sam remarked after a few minutes of companionable silence.

"What?" he asked suspiciously, praying this had nothing to do with Buffy.

"For years, I really thought I hated Dad. I really believed it. I didn't though… I was just pissed at him. Pissed that he moved us around so much, that he never let me be a kid or stay in a town long enough to have actual friends… all kinds of junk like that. But, I forgave him. I know he wanted better for me, he just didn't quite know how to do it."

"That's good, Sam," Dean said tiredly. His little brother's unresolved resentment toward Dad wasn't exactly his favorite subject, but at least it was familiar and it also seemed relatively safe. "Dad was a hard ass," he agreed, "but you know he loved you. He was just a hunter, that's all. The man did his best."

"Yeah, I think he probably did. And like I said, I forgive him for anything he ever did or didn't do for me… but I don't think I'll ever forgive him for what he did to you."

Dean's head snapped up at that. "Sam, what the hell are you talking about? Dad and I got along way better than you two ever did. We weren't the ones always bitching and yelling at each other."

"True," Sam said calmly. "But, you still got the raw end of the deal. I never used to see it that way. I guess I was a kid and way too wrapped up in my own drama. But dude! Dad fucked with your head in ways that I can't even begin to imagine. The man used to leave you alone with me for weeks at a time when you were only six or seven years old. And no matter how much you took on, it was never good enough. You were a child, Dean! A little kid! You had no business having all that dumped on you. No wonder you think everything's your responsibility."

"_Sam."_

"Man, just listen to me. You never failed any of us. _Never_. It's not your job to control the world and these stunts you pull, they only make things worse, not better. Did you ever think when you were selling your soul, or gambling fifty years of your life away, or… sending the woman you love to another damn planet… Did you ever think that maybe you were the thing we all needed? Just you. Not some crazed kamikaze act." Sam paused to give Dean a sad smile before continuing. "You're a bossy, controlling pain in the ass, and you drink too much, and most of the time, you're completely full of shit… but there's nobody like you, man. Nobody. People love you. You're pretty damn awesome."

Despite his massive embarrassment, Dean wanted to believe his brother's words. He did. But his heart and his head told him differently and, wrong or not, those things were hard to argue with. Besides, it didn't matter where Buffy was concerned. She didn't need him and she sure as hell didn't love him. What she needed was to go back home where she belonged, and he had to believe he'd done the right thing by her, because there was nothing he could do about it now. She was gone and she was never coming back.

"Okay Sammy," he said with a forced grin. "Let's roll credits on this chick flick. You've had your say. Can I hit the sack now? I've slept maybe four hours total in the last three days, and I'm gonna need to be sharp when my stupid ass goes all kamikaze on Travers."

Sam didn't look happy, but he didn't say anything else. Dean was glad too, because otherwise, he was pretty sure he was going to burst out crying and he really didn't want to go there, mostly because he was afraid he'd never be able to stop.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: I'm thinking about three more chapters to go. Next week, we'll peek in on Buffy and see what's up in Sunny-D. Then after that… well, I'm not going to spoil you, but I do promise more Buffy/Dean smut. *grins*


	14. Chapter 14

Buffy wondered if the night had always been this bright or if the months spent in Dean's world were coloring her perception. There were streetlights everywhere and many businesses left bright, neon signs burning well after closing time. It seemed obscenely wasteful. Even the houses on the residential streets weren't entirely dark. At the very least, most had a porch light burning and in others she could see the flicker of a television or the glow of lamplight through the windows. She'd never noticed before, but she could actually hear the hum of the lights, and the sound of the few cars that were on the road was startling to her shattered nerves. How she'd ever managed to sleep in this level of light and noise was a mystery to her.

She spent the last few hours before dawn just walking around in a daze. A couple of vamps did cross her path, but she dusted them with barely a second glance, otherwise she was left to her solitude. No matter how badly her conscience ate at her, she wasn't able to approach Revello Drive. She would have to eventually, but she couldn't bring herself to do it yet.

Deep down Buffy knew that she was angry, furious even. Part of her wanted to kill Dean for doing this to her, yet it was so typical of him. The other part, the part that was currently in control, was simply terrified for him. The Council had been mere minutes behind her when she busted in on Dean's private party. There was no way he had time to get away before their arrival. She just had to hold on to the hope that the four of them had been able to make it out alive. After all, it was only men they would be facing. Heavily-armed men, granted, but they were still just humans. She and Dean had faced scarier things on their own before and this time he had more backup. They were fine. They had to be. Her heart refused to believe anything else, because she was going back and she was personally going to kill Dean herself when she got there. Or maybe she'd settle for severely kicking his ass, because she had a feeling that what she needed to defeat Travers would actually be much easier to obtain in this world. Finally, she had a plan and she'd only had to cross dimensions to make it possible.

XXXXXXXXXX

The more time she spent in this reality, the more she realized that it wasn't hers anymore. Everything was so strange, loud, and extravagant in ways that she never used to bat an eyelash at. As she walked, she noticed lots of perfectly good food peeking out of trash cans and even lying discarded on the sidewalk. The sheer numbers of half-eaten burgers and barely touched pastries was extremely disturbing. The thoughtlessness and casual waste was so very wrong. The fact that her world was now Dean's was blindingly clear to her. This one was now as foreign to her as his had once seemed.

As the sun came up, she finally made her way toward her old home. She was pretty sure it was a school day, which meant Dawn would be up and getting ready to go to class. With her heart pounding in her throat, she crept toward the kitchen window and took a peek inside. What she saw should have been shocking, but it wasn't. Not after the Slayer dream she'd had.

As expected, Dawn was up and dressed, and sitting at the table shoveling some sort of sugar-filled kid's cereal into her mouth. It was an amusing contrast since her little sister had physically matured so dramatically during the past seven months. She looked like a full-fledged teenager now and was even wearing full makeup. The thing that should have been shocking, however, wasn't Dawn. It was the person who slid a glass of orange juice in front of her.

That person was Faith and although Buffy couldn't hear the conversation, she could see the smile on Dawn's face when the other girl playfully smacked her on the side the head. Her sister was talking animatedly and gesturing with her spoon as she did, and Faith appeared to actually be paying attention to her ramblings. From experience, Buffy knew that was often a challenging prospect. Once Willow and Tara joined the crowd, it was like they were one big happy family. It was a very pleasant surprise to realize those two must be living there as well.

Buffy was relieved to see Dawn with a smile on her face, but it also broke her heart. She was both literally and figuratively on the outside looking in, and it convinced her that Dawn didn't need to see her. Her sister was okay, she was certain of it, but she was also sure that she would no longer be okay if she were to see Buffy again and then have to let her go again. Dawn wouldn't understand. She'd think it was her fault and that Buffy didn't love her. It was best if her sister believed her to be dead, because as far as she was concerned, she was dead in this world. Her death had been her gift to Dawn and it seemed cruel to tarnish that for her.

Buffy hid in the bushes, feeling very much like a criminal, and watched as Xander swung by to pick Dawn up for school. Her old friend looked good and happy as well. He was dressed in his construction-guy clothes and clearly on his way to work. He made a big show of opening the car door for Dawn and bowing to her like he was her chauffer. Typical Xander goofiness. It made her hope that someday she'd run into an alternate universe version of Xander. The idea didn't seem too far-fetched. She'd already run across Faith, Giles, and most recently Willow. At first they'd seemed really different, but Buffy was discovering that those differences were mostly on the surface. At their core, they were still the same people and, unfortunately, that held true for Quentin Travers as well. He was still an arrogant, power-hungry piece of trash. He just had more opportunity to show it in her world.

Once Xander's car was well out of sight, she took a deep breath and steeled herself for the reunion to come. She really hoped she and Faith didn't trade blows this time. That was the last thing she needed to deal with at the moment. But, regardless, it was now or never. The clock was ticking and every second she was away from Dean placed him closer to harm at the hands of the Council. It was time to move her plan along. So, she self-consciously smoothed her ponytail and went to knock on the door.

Faith answered her knock and while she did look shocked; her reaction was nowhere near as extreme as Buffy feared it would be. She was standing in a fight-ready stance, but she didn't actually try to make a move.

"Buffy?" she said after she'd found her voice. "Is that really you?"

She smiled at the other Slayer, hoping it would diffuse some of the tension. "It's really me," she confirmed. "I promise I'm not a zombie or a ghost. Just plain 'ole Buffy."

Faith continued to stare at her suspiciously for a moment before shaking her head. "Kinda not surprised to see you. How wacked is that?"

"Dunno… depends on what your dreams were like last night."

Faith relaxed her stance a little, but was obviously still on guard. "Wicked-ass freaky," she replied. "Guess you know what I mean?"

"Yep. I'm completely on board. Angry scales and all."

The comment about the scales seemed to convince Faith, because she moved back from the doorway and nodded for her to enter. Buffy guessed she didn't get the full-verbal invite for safety's sake. This way, Faith could at least be sure she wasn't inviting vamp-Buffy to come inside.

"Guys!" Faith called out while keeping her eyes on Buffy. "You need to see somethin'."

Buffy shuffled anxiously back and forth on her feet while she waited in the foyer for Willow and Tara to appear. This was bound to be weird and she wasn't disappointed. Willow screamed so loud she thought her eardrums might burst and Tara almost passed out. She'd definitely made an impression.

"Buffy!" Willow gasped. "Is it… is it really you? I mean… I-I tried to bring you back, but that was months ago and I thought I'd failed and then there was all this crazy talk about other dimensions and I thought you weren't dead after all, but maybe just stuck in some weird shrimp world and … You haven't been back all this time have you? Because I –,"

"Breathe Will," Buffy said as she broke into her ramble. "I just got back and no, I'm not dead and I definitely haven't been in shrimp world. I mean, I guess we have shrimp there, but I don't live near the beach and fresh seafood isn't exactly on the menu…"

Anything else Buffy was going to say was cut off when Willow threw her arms around her. For a second, Buffy hesitated to return the embrace. Willow was the one who had sent her back here and she was damn pissed about that. But she realized it was irrational to be angry with _this_ Willow, so she wrapped her arms around her friend and hugged her back.

"But-but how?" Tara stammered, interrupting the reunion. "How did you get here?"

"Well, actually it was sort of Willow's doing… in a weird sort of way."

Willow drew back and stared at her curiously and Tara just looked furious. Buffy had never seen the girl this angry. She whirled on Willow with a vengeance.

"Willow, you promised me you weren't going to try anything once we realized Buffy wasn't dead! You can't just go around opening random dimensions. Who knows what could get through? I can't believe you lied to me!"

"Huh?" Willow said meekly before proceeding to plead her case in a somewhat whiny voice. "But I-I didn't Tara. I didn't do _anything_. I promise! You have to believe me."

Buffy cringed, she hadn't meant to start a fight, plus she didn't have time for it. "It wasn't really Willow," she said loudly, in order to be heard over the escalating argument. "Everybody just calm down and let me explain."

Unfortunately Buffy's words fell on deaf ears. Apparently she'd hit on a sore subject between the couple and they were far too focused on their argument to even hear Buffy. Faith's piercing whistle, however, seemed to do the trick.

"Can we have a seat and talk about this?" Buffy asked, once she'd regained the witches' attention. "I promise I'll clear things up, kay?"

XXXXXXXXXX

"Wow," Tara said, breaking the uncomfortable silence in the room. "That's just… WOW!"

"Yeah," Buffy agreed. "It's a little wiggy. I call it Mad Max with monsters and an exciting cameo appearance by the biggest prick in the Watcher's Council."

Willow was indignant. "I knew that butt-face Quentin Travers was evil! I knew it! I'm not surprised at all. Not even a teeny tiny little bit. Thank the Goddess you got out of that place, Buffy. It sounds horrible."

Here it comes, Buffy thought, this was going to be the hard part. "Iwannagoback," she blurted out in one breath. It seemed easier that way, like ripping off a bandage.

"You what?" Willow exclaimed in horror. "Buffy, no! You don't know what you're saying. You need to give it some time and think about this. We just got you back and… well… you're bound to be traumatized after living in a place like that. I'm sure you'll change your mind after you've been back with us for a while."

Buffy gazed into her friend's hopeful features and sighed. "_Faith_," she said as she desperately sought her sister Slayer's help.

"I don't think she's supposed to be here," Faith responded hesitantly. "I had a dream… Sorry guys, but I think we're in for some real trouble if the Slayer line gets doubled again. Somethin' real big and bad won't put up with it this time."

Willow gaped at Faith in horror. "So? We've fought all kinds of really big and bad things. _Hello, Hell God._ I'm NOT sending Buffy back to a hell-dimension just because some big nasty may not like it. You just don't want her here," Willow accused.

"Hey!" Faith snapped, but Buffy cut her off before another argument got started.

"But what if it's what _I_ want? What if I need to go back, Willow?" Buffy tried to blink back her tears, but she couldn't. "What if somebody I love might die if I don't? I'm begging you. Please help me! You're the only one who can."

Tara moved to sit beside Buffy on the couch and put a hand on her shoulder. The gentle gesture broke the dam and she began sobbing uncontrollably.

"Buffy, sweetie, we're just trying to understand. Okay? We only want what's best for you."

"I'm tired of people telling me what's best for me!" Buffy snapped. She immediately felt horrible about it, because Tara jumped like she'd been slapped. But once she got started she couldn't stop herself. "I'm a grown woman!" she yelled through her sobs. "I'm a Slayer. I've been making the hard decisions since I was fifteen-years-old! I know what I want and I know where I want to be!"

"But, Buffy!" Willow pleaded. "You're no better than a slave there! Don't you see the wrong in that?"

"She's right," Tara said softly. "I know you're a grown woman, but we can't just send you back to somebody who bought you as a-a super powered sex toy or something. Maybe you just have… I dunno… Stockholm Syndrome? It happens, Buffy. We have to consider that."

Buffy tried to wipe her tears away and catch her breath. "You don't understand, he didn't buy me for that… I think," she lowered her head, suddenly feeling ashamed of the shape she was in when she first met Dean. "I think he felt sorry for me. I was starving. That's how they controlled us. Barely enough food to live, drugs to keep our powers under control. I probably looked like a famine victim. I doubt he was having any sexy thoughts."

"But things changed, didn't they? I mean you two are…?" Tara hesitated, obviously uncomfortable with the subject.

"Yeah," Buffy smiled. "But that was months later. Though, to be honest, I probably wouldn't have fought him if he'd tried that first night." She blushed and hesitated before continuing quietly. "I was so hungry and he gave me as much as I could eat… It was canned chicken noodle soup, in fact. Wasn't even _Campbell's_, it was some lame generic store brand. Talk about a cheap date. How pathetic is that?"

Willow was horrified. "Buffy! I can't believe you'd even say that! I'd think you'd rather starve –"

"Don't!" Faith snapped angrily, causing Buffy to look up at her in surprise. Her eyes were shiny. This subject had clearly hit a big nerve with her. "Don't you dare judge her. You got no clue what it's like to actually be hungry. You have no goddamn clue! You've never been out on the streets with no food, no shelter, no hope… So don't you dare pretend to know what you'd be willing to do."

Buffy had always known that Faith had a dark past, but she'd never known it had gotten that bad. She had a new understanding of her. No wonder she was so mistrustful.

"I didn't mean—," Willow began. She chewed her lip. It was obvious she didn't know what to say and Faith was clearly still angry with her. "Buffy, I didn't mean… I wasn't trying to judge you."

Buffy took her eyes off Faith and gave Willow a gentle smile. "It's okay, Will. I know. Seven months ago, I'd be saying the exact same thing. So, can't really fault you for that. Some things just have to be experienced."

"So you really want to go back then?" Willow asked. Hurt and disappointment was evident in her tone.

"Yes, I do. Dean and I need each other and I'm pretty sure that world needs me more than this one does. You've got your one and only chosen one," she said as she met Faith's eye. "That's how it's supposed to be here and I know Faith can handle it."

Faith looked embarrassed and looked away, but Buffy could tell that she was secretly pleased. She could also tell that Willow was still not convinced that Dean wasn't some monster. "Will, who do you think talked the other you into sending me here?" Her friend looked a little stunned, so Buffy continued. "It was Dean and he thought he was doing what was best for me. He loves me too, Will, and he didn't want me to get hurt… but he didn't ask me what I wanted either. And I have to go back and kick his ass for it."

"But you _can't_ Buffy! That's the point. That horrible binding spell won't let you!"

"No, but I know you can figure out how to break it," she said with a confident smile. "Then we'll see if he tries one of those tragic hero stunts again. Actually," she said almost to herself. "I still wouldn't put it past him, but it might help if I can kick some sense into him… Anyway, not the point. The point is that it's not all about freeing me. There are hundreds, maybe even thousands of Slayers in that world and they're all bound… and some of them aren't as lucky as I am."

"Lucky!" Willow exclaimed. "Buffy are you even listening to yourself?"

"I know it sounds crazy, Willow. I do. And believe me, I honestly haven't lost my mind. I know what I'm doing, I know what I want, and _I know_ I'm not supposed to be here. I did my duty and now it's time for me to move on. I don't expect you to understand. Just please respect my wishes, Will. _You have to."_

Willow looked to Tara, obviously desperate for backup.

"She has a right to make her own choice," Tara said, "and if we're really her friends… we need to respect that, sweetie."

"But, I just can't believe she's leaving us for some guy. Don't you think that's…?" Willow trailed off and turned back to face Buffy. "We're your friends, Buffy, and we love you and we've missed you more than anything. Haven't you missed us at all? Even a little bit? Because it seems like you're in an awful big hurry to get away from us and you just got here. I'm sorry, but I just don't understand."

Willow looked devastated and it broke Buffy's heart. She wished she could make her friend understand. "I have missed you," she said weakly. "I really have. I'm just afraid that if I don't get back soon-" she stopped, unable to even voice her fears of what might happen to Dean if she didn't manage to get back in time.

Tara slipped an arm around her shoulder. "I don't think he is just _some guy_ to you, is he Buffy?"

Buffy shook her head as she felt the tears tickling her eyes again. "No," she said quietly. "Dean's _the_ guy. He's the one. I love him." She was so tired of arguing, terrified, and completely exhausted. She knew the confrontation with her friends would be a tough one, but knowing it and experiencing it were two totally different things.

"Honey, think about it," Tara said as she looked up at Willow. "What if it was me? What if I was caught in some other place and I was the one in danger. You'd do anything you had to. I know you would. You'd go to the other end of the universe if it meant we could be together again. That doesn't mean you hate everybody else, it's just… well, that's what love makes you do."

Willow smiled at Tara fondly and then gazed at Buffy for a long moment before uttering a deep, resigned sigh.

"Okay, I don't get it and I won't lie about it. Still, I guess I have to believe you when you say you really do love this guy. But, honestly, I don't even know if I _can_ do it, Buffy. There are an infinite number of dimensions and I have no way of knowing which one to send you to. You really might end up in shrimp world this time. _Seriously."_

Hope suddenly grabbed hold of Buffy and her head snapped up eagerly. "But you did it before… the other you, I mean. I know you can."

"If I had to guess, I'd say I, uh… I mean, _she_ used a part of you. Maybe some of your hair? It's actually not too hard to send someone back to their dimension of origin as long as you have something like that. But to send you the other way, I'd need something from that dimension."

"My clothes!" Buffy exclaimed. "My clothes are from that dimension. Can't you use those?"

Willow shook her head. "It has to be something more personal Buffy, something that's really tied to someone or something in that world. I'm afraid a pair of blue jeans isn't going to cut it."

Buffy's heart sank. She was trapped here. She was never going to see Dean again and she was never going to know what happened to him. How was she supposed to live with that? But just as the despair began to wash over her, she remembered something, Dean's letter. She had it with her. It was in her jeans' pocket. That had to be enough. "How about this?" she asked excitedly as she pulled it out and showed it to Willow. "Dean wrote it."

"I dunno Buffy, I'm not sure a letter…"

"But the paper's from his journal. The same one he looks at every single day. I guarantee you it's as much a part of him as a lock of his hair would be. It _is_ him."

"Okay, I'll try," her friend said reluctantly. "But, it might not be enough, Buffy. Don't get your hopes up."

Despite her friend's doubts, Buffy knew it would be enough. She smiled and pulled Willow into a tight hug. "Thank you, Willow. Thank you so, so much."

XXXXXXXXXX

With the resources Willow had access to, the reversal spell wasn't that hard to find. It was an ancient spell, outlined in a _very_ old Watcher's Journal that Giles had left behind when he went to London. Apparently it had once been used in this dimension before the Council decided it was 'unseemly'. Imagine that. She'd be willing to bet that this Travers' didn't know anything about it. Otherwise, she was sure he'd reinstate its use in a heartbeat.

An essential ingredient was a type of amber stone known as 'blue amber'. It was found in the Dominican Republic, but was sometimes used in obscure spells, so the Magic Box had a few in stock. It wasn't as much as she would need to free every Slayer in her dimension, but it would be a good starting place. Of course, they'd have to break into the Magic Box that night to get to it, because Buffy didn't want Anya or Xander to know she was here. She was just too exhausted to face another argument and it seemed easier that way. Thankfully, Faith had been firmly on board with her decision to not meet with Dawn, so that had soothed her conscience a lot. The fewer waves she made in this dimension, the better.

Buffy strolled around the Magic Box while she waited for Willow to gather her spell ingredients. Anya had added a lot more non-magical merchandise to the inventory, obviously for the sake of increasing profit. There was now cheap costume jewelry, dream catchers made in China, and bumper stickers with phrases like 'My Karma Ate My Dogma' and 'Your Mind is Like a Parachute, It Only Works When Open'. Dean would call it a bunch of hippie crap, she thought with a smile. Then her eyes fell on something and her expression became more serious. It was a journal. A nice, leather bound one with a variety of occult protection symbols etched into the cover. Many of them might mean nothing in her new dimension, but she recognized a few from the cast iron fencing around the town. Not that it mattered, she just thought it was pretty in a masculine sort of way and she really wanted Dean to have it.

The one he used was precious to him, she realized that. It wasn't like she wanted him to get rid of it, but there was no more room in it and it was falling apart. It needed to be put away somewhere safe before it disintegrated. He needed a new one to keep track of all the bizarre, unknown monsters they were always coming up against, and in a way it would be like a fresh start. So, even though she had no way of paying for it, she didn't seem to be able to set it down. She carried it around with her as she continued to wander idly through the aisles.

"Do you keep a journal?" Tara asked curiously.

Buffy looked up and smiled sheepishly. "Nah, it's for… I mean, Dean keeps one. It's not the Dear Diary sort of journal or anything, unless you count: _Dear Diary, this is the ugly-ass monster I hunted today, and this is how I ganked the mother and here's a really bad drawing of it too_." She giggled at the memory of some of his more colorful entries. "Anyway," she shrugged. "The one he has is packed full and I thought… Nevermind… I don't have any money and we're already taking a bunch of Anya's inventory. I was just window shopping."

Tara grinned at her in an indulgent sort of way that made Buffy feel like a five-year-old begging her mother for a new toy. "Take it. I'll pay for it. It – it can be like a going away present. To remember me by, since it doesn't sound like there's a uh… me in that world."

"I honestly wouldn't be surprised if there was." She looked down at the journal longingly for a moment. "Are you sure? I mean, I hate to ask you to do that. I'm sure Anya has it way overpriced."

"Of course she does," Tara agreed with a laugh, "but I won't take no for an answer. Consider it yours."

Buffy couldn't bring herself to turn down the gift, so she threw her arms around Tara in thanks. "I'm glad Will has you," she said sincerely. "Now I don't have to worry about her."

Tara smiled back at her shyly and then Willow interrupted from behind them.

"Guess we're ready," she said sadly. "All I have to do is open a door… You sure you want to do this Buffy?"

She nodded and gave her friend a sympathetic smile. "I'm sure. Really, really sure… And _thank you_."

XXXXXXXXXX

After hugging a tearful Willow, Tara, and even Faith goodbye, Buffy stood anxiously awaiting the appearance of the portal. She was sorry that she had to lose the letter for the spell to work (Willow had to burn it), but she decided she'd soon be able to actually hear Dean say he loved her and that was much better than a letter anyway.

Around her neck, she now wore a pendant with a blue amber stone. It was very pretty, actually. And in a backpack, she held all the ingredients and the instructions for how to break the binding spells that held the other Slayers. She'd also packed Dean's new journal and several bags worth of fresh coffee beans as well. She just couldn't resist the call of Starbucks.

When the portal shimmered into view in front of her, this time Buffy found it beautiful rather than horrifying. She was going home.


	15. Chapter 15

**Warning:** **This chapter contains scenes of torture and a reference to suicide.**

A/N: Took me a little longer to get this chapter out because initially this was going to be the big finale, but it just didn't feel right all crammed into one chapter and I decided to split it up and expand it some. Buffy's going to be a very pissed off slayer and I thought she needed some more space for that. So, there will be at least one more chapter after this, followed by a gratuitously smutty epilogue. Hope you hang around.

**~Chapter 15~**

Pain was Dean's entire world now. It was the only thing in existence. Everything else seemed like a distant daydream. Part of him wasn't even sure how long he'd been in a dank basement, tied by the wrists with his arms over his head and his boots barely touching the concrete floor below him. The rope that held him was thrown over one of the ceiling beams, way too far overhead for him to ever reach it. That was one thing he was sure of, because that and the cinderblock wall with one tiny, dirty window defined the limits of his view. And unless his mind was playing tricks on him, that window had only shown him one sunset since he'd been brought here and it was still dark outside. Apparently he'd been here less than twenty-four hours. It seemed longer, but he knew from experience that torture tended to skew one's view of the passage of time.

How he'd ended up in this position was something of a blur in itself. He remembered talking with Sam and then sacking out on the floor in front of the fireplace. He lay there for a while, thinking he'd never go to sleep, but somewhere along the line pure exhaustion had taken over and he'd slept until mid-afternoon when he was awakened by the Council's storm troopers.

A semi-automatic rifle was held mere inches from his face before he even knew what hit him. Faith and Giles had been just as caught off guard themselves. It was embarrassing how easily they'd been captured, but at least Faith had the excuse of being a little groggy from whatever the witches had given her for pain. Of course, the whole mess stunk of some sort of hoodoo. The Council had another powerful witch on staff, and this one was most definitely not on their side - which was a big surprise to Giles based on all his cursing and ranting.

Ethan Rayne was the witch's name and he was one serious son of a bitch. Why Giles had ever trusted him was one of the great mysteries. Unfortunately he was not only a grade-A bastard, but a very powerful grade-A bastard to boot. The man had managed to track them despite the mojo Willow had worked to hide them, then magically muffle the sound of one of the helicopters and land the damn thing right in the cabin's front yard. All while the three of them snored on like idiots. Thank God Sam hadn't been there at the time. He'd told Dean he was going out to hunt them some fresh food, and he guessed Tara had gone with him. The witch, Willow, was also nowhere to be seen. Either she'd managed to hide herself with some magic of her own or she'd tagged along with Sam and Tara. He was going with the latter, since he'd sensed some serious chemistry between her and the other girl. Whatever the case, at least some of them had gotten away. If Sam had been caught up in this mess, he'd never have forgiven himself.

The fact that he was going to die didn't bother him that much, not as much as it probably should anyway. What got him was that he didn't get to try and take Quentin Travers with him. The bastard had shown his face down here at least once, but he'd made sure to stay well out of Dean's reach when he did. Not that he could do much to the coward if he had come close. He couldn't even get a decent kick in with his ankles tied together, plus he'd already been beat to hell by that point.

He was actually beginning to hope they were done tormenting him for the night when the door swung open and his new friend Ethan appeared again, carrying a bright battery-powered lamp with him. The thrill of torture must have seemed far more interesting than sleep.

"Dean," he greeted warmly. "I can call you Dean, right? I feel we've moved past formalities."

Dean's throat was parched and swollen, but he did choke out a rough, "Fuck you."

"Ah, yes. I'd forgotten you were such a brilliant conversationalist." He sat the lamp on a small table nearby then stepped closer and held up a syringe so that Dean could see it. "I'd like to give you one last opportunity to tell me where Buffy Summers is. Trust me, you don't want me to be forced to inject this. I'm told it's rather unpleasant."

"Told you," Dean slurred out. "She's not on the goddamn planet anymore. She's gone. You'll never find her," he managed to gloat. "And even if you could find her, I'd rot in hell again before I'd tell you anything."

Ethan smiled. Dean was certain he was enjoying the fact that he'd have a good excuse to shoot him up with whatever crap was in the syringe. "Just remember, you brought this on yourself," he remarked with barely restrained glee as he shoved the needle into Dean's neck and began slowly depressing the plunger.

It felt like molten lava was being injected into his veins and Dean tried not to give the sadistic bastard the satisfaction of crying out, but he could hear himself groaning despite his best efforts. He was momentarily relieved when the needle was pulled away, but then the world began to fall apart before his eyes. The cinderblock walls glowed red and melted, and the floor was suddenly so far below him that he could no longer see it. Meat hooks hung suspended in the air all around him and each was either dripping blood or holding bits of torn flesh. A part of his mind realized that the drug was doing this. None of what he was seeing was real.

_It's not real. This isn't happening_.

He repeated the thought over and over again as he glared into Ethan Rayne's smug face. And it seemed to be working. After all, he had plenty of experience with this game. But then Ethan's face changed, even his voice changed, and Dean felt his edge slipping away. He was no longer looking at the witch. Instead, he was seeing and hearing Alistair. There was no way he could stop the scream that tore from his throat.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy stumbled a little, but didn't fall when she came through the portal this time. She found herself in the same abandoned house she'd been in the night before. No one was around, which was something she'd expected, but she was still disappointed. She supposed a part of her had hoped Dean would be standing right where she'd left him. He wasn't though and she couldn't afford to dwell on that. She needed to pull her thoughts together and do what needed to be done in order to find him.

First, she scoured the room looking for any signs of a struggle and most especially any blood. If the Council had taken them here, she should see some evidence of it. There was nothing though. Everything was just as it was when she'd left. There were even a few softly glowing embers still in the fireplace. It was a wonder one of them hadn't started a fire and burned the place to the ground, but she guessed that neither Dean nor the Council was very concerned with fire safety at the time. The calmness of the scene was both a source of relief and of terror. Not knowing was, in many ways, the most horrifying thing in the world. A lack of knowledge always led her to imagine all sorts of horrible scenarios. It certainly didn't help that she may not be able to pick up their trail until sunrise. Tracking in the dark was no simple task.

It seemed logical to start at home. Maybe she'd find something there. It was always possible that Dean had stopped back by and left some clue to his whereabouts. The idea was farfetched, but she did need weapons and that was one sure place to find them.

The front door was hanging open when she arrived, a sight that was like a knife in her gut. Dean would never do that, especially not in the dead of winter. Inside the scene was even worse. The place had been ransacked. Furniture was turned over, every drawer and cabinet had been yanked open and emptied onto the floor, and broken dishes lay scattered all over the kitchen. The Council was responsible for all of it, of course. They'd probably been looking for her or any evidence of where she may be.

At first she wanted to cry. Having her home torn apart felt like such a violation, but in a way, it was a good thing. It made her angry, gave her something to focus her rage and anxiety on. Quentin Travers would pay for this, and his black-suited minions would be sorry they ever made the mistake of leaving her with a full stock of weaponry. Sure, they had taken all the guns, but they'd left everything else behind. Guess they didn't expect her to come back, because if they did, they were complete idiots. The Council of all people should know that a slayer didn't need a gun. They would soon realize that a few blades and a crossbow was more than enough for her.

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean struggled to separate illusion from reality, but he feared he was failing miserably. The pain was welcome actually. It was real. It helped him focus. He was actually almost thankful for the jolts of electricity after Ethan had cut off his shirt in order to administer electro-shock therapy to his bare chest. The juice came from a wet sponge attached to some jumper cables hooked to an old car battery. The pain was excruciating, but each time the current tore through his body, he was briefly able to anchor himself in the world and see the true face of his tormentor, instead of believing he was back in the Pit with Alistair. The worst thing about the Pit wasn't the pain - it was the sights, the smells, and especially the things he'd done there.

Every single night, for at least the first year after he was pulled from Hell, he would have the same nightmare. Sam had always assumed he was dreaming of being tortured and he'd let him go on believing that. No way was he ever telling anyone what really went on inside his head every night. The truth was, he was dreaming of being the torturer and it was always the same.

Alistair would give him a choice, the same choice he'd given him every day for thirty-years straight. But this time, instead of telling the demon what he could do with his choice, Dean said 'yes'. He didn't care anymore. He just wanted the pain to stop.

After a while, the faces of his victims had blurred. He wasn't even sure if he bothered to actually look at them or learn their names. They weren't real. They were simply a form of disposable entertainment. A means of taking out his rage and frustration. A way to dish out some of what he'd been served all those years. However, he did remember the very first one. God help him, he couldn't forget her if he tried. The vision was burned into his memory.

Damned souls, he'd found, always looked exactly as they did on their very last day on earth. The woman they put in front of him - strapped to the same rack where he'd once suffered – appeared to have been in her late twenties/early thirties when she died. Her name was Jennifer. She was a brunette who was too skinny and covered in tattoos, many of which had the distinct appearance of jailhouse tats. She had sores on her skin and the few teeth she had left were discolored and decayed. Her wrists had been slit. A suicide, he assumed. Underneath it all, he could see that she had once been very beautiful. Her delicate bone structure still reflected a shadow of her former self - the person she was before drugs, or alcohol, or just life in general had ravaged her almost beyond recognition.

He never knew why she was in Hell. If it was the suicide, or things she'd done, or if maybe she'd even made a deal too just like he had. At the time he didn't care, although he'd wondered about it far too often in the years since. Wondered what arbitrary rules decided who was saved and who was damned, and cursed the unfairness of it all. But back then, all he cared about was that he was no longer the one suffering. When he realized that with every slice his own pain receded, he began giving the girl as good as he'd gotten without hesitation. He enjoyed it, reveled in it even. And he would always hate himself for that.

In his drugged mind, the scene around him was the same as it always was in his nightmares. The same as it had been on the first day of his thirty-first year in hell. He was given the choice. He said 'yes'. But when he lifted the blade and looked down, it wasn't the face of the familiar brunette he looked into this time. It was Buffy's. The horror of that was beyond anything he'd ever imagined or seen.

So, he was grateful for the pain when it hit. The pain would bring him back to the basement. Back to the reality where he knew the real Buffy was now safe at home with her family and friends. Back to the world where he was the one doing the suffering. That he could handle. He could deal with this shithole where he was being shocked and beaten and bloodied. He could even deal with Ethan Rayne's smug face and the endless stream of questions. Sometimes he would even give an actual answer instead of screaming and babbling nonsense. What he couldn't deal with were the unspeakable things he saw inside his own mind.

When the effects of the drug finally began to fade from his system and reality became more solid again, he could hear the witch talking to Quentin Travers, who'd apparently come to catch the show.

"So, you believe him?" Travers asked skeptically. "You honestly believe that he did indeed send Miss Summers to another dimension."

"I do. There's no way he could have lied. This one was a tough nut to crack, but the drug did what a dozen beatings couldn't. It turned his own mind against him, and believe me when I say - there are some very dark things hidden away in that head of his. We got the truth. I'm certain of it."

Travers sighed in clear disappointment. "Very well then. I suppose we have no more use for him now. I'll give the orders for the execution. Even if we have lost the slayer, we can at least use him and the others to set an example. Leave him be until then. I want him fully conscious for this."

Dean didn't bother listening to the rest of the conversation. He was too relieved by the news to care. The night was finally over. The sun was coming up and he knew all of this was coming to an end soon. He was okay with that. He'd gotten to see his brother again and he knew Buffy was safe. The rest didn't matter anymore. He was done with it. In fact, he planned on grinning like an idiot through the entire execution. He might even sing some really off-key Zeppelin if he got any 'last words'. That would piss Travers off to no end. If he couldn't kill the bastard, at least he could go out knowing he'd jacked-up his little show.

XXXXXXXXXX

By the time Buffy walked back into town the sun was coming up. She would have to be careful, because the people here got up early and the main street would likely be filled with pedestrians soon. She guessed it was the way everyone must have lived in the days before electricity. Daylight was a commodity that couldn't be wasted or taken for granted anymore. Luckily for her it was cold and breezy outside, which meant no one would think twice about the fact that she was bundled up in a hood and a toboggan cap which was pulled down low on her forehead. She would blend right in.

Unlike her house, everything in town was undisturbed. It looked the same as always. The only thing out of place was the increased security around the home where Travers had set up shop. He'd 'borrowed' the largest and nicest home on Main Street, forcing the residents to find other accommodations. During his stay there had always been guards posted outside, but this was different. Instead of having a man out front and a man around back, there were now two at each entrance and several on each side, and they looked more alert than usual. There was no way that was a sign of anything good. She itched to get inside and see if her hunch was correct - if Dean and the rest were being held captive somewhere within those walls. But she needed more information first. She couldn't afford to show her hand too soon.

The source of her information was the dilemma. There were two people in town that she felt certain she could trust – Noah and Joe. The problem was that one was a child and the other was responsible for one. She didn't wish to place either of them in harm's way, but in the end, she decided that Joe was probably her best bet. As a hunter, he may have some information that the boy didn't have. Plus, Noah had already risked himself enough by delivering Dean's letter to her. She couldn't ask anything more of him.

As she'd imagined, there were a few people out and about, but none seemed to pay too much attention to her. It was bitterly cold and those who were outside seemed determined to take care of whatever needed doing and get back inside as quickly as possible. Chatting was the last thing on anyone's mind this morning. So, she was able to slip unnoticed to the back of Joe's house. Once she was confident no one was watching, she knocked on the door and then waited anxiously for him to answer.

When Joe cautiously swung open the door, he looked puzzled by the sight in front of him. Buffy decided she probably resembled a really short Eskimo, the way she was all bundled up. She glanced around once more before pulling the hood away from her face. Joe's eyes almost bugged out of his skull, but he quickly stepped back and opened the door wider to allow her entrance.

He whispered when he spoke, even though they were now inside with the door secured behind them.

"Buffy, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you were long gone by now."

"I was," she said simply. "But now I'm back. So, what's the word? Did they get Dean? Is he…?" She couldn't bring herself to actually ask if he might be dead.

"They got him," Joe confirmed. "Along with the other slayer and that watcher with the big scar on his face. Get this. They're holding them for treason," he informed her with a shake of his head. "As far as I know, they're still alive. If I had to guess, I'd say we're going to see another public execution real soon."

Buffy swallowed down bile and forced herself to remain focused. "Are they holding them in that house? The one Travers is staying in?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty sure they are. You going in?"

"Something like that," she said absently as she peeked through the curtain which shielded the large picture window at the front of the house from the street. There were three figures out front that she didn't recognize and, for some reason, her spidey senses were extremely interested in them.

It was hard to tell with the bulky winter clothing, but she was pretty sure it was a man and two women. They were standing aside watching as one of Travers' bodyguards attached some sort of notice to a light pole. She couldn't always remember the names of everyone in town, but she knew them all by sight, and none of them were quite as tall as the man.

"Who are they?" she asked as she stepped back and flattened her body against the wall.

"Refugees. A guy and two girls. They showed up yesterday evening right before sunset."

That in itself didn't surprise Buffy. Refugees weren't uncommon. Unlike many places, they never turned anyone away and word had gotten around. At this rate, they were going to have to expand the borders of the town before the next winter set in.

"Pretty sure the man's a hunter," Joe remarked as Buffy once again peered cautiously out of the side of the curtain. "That or a soldier. I'll tell you one thing, he ain't no former tech support guy like he claims he is. Watch him. He's casual, but he's casing this whole place. Something's up."

Buffy had opened her mouth to ask if Joe had any theories about what that 'something' might be, but stopped when one of the girls turned to the side and she got a good view of her profile. It was Willow. She was sure of it. Joe's instincts were dead on center. Something was up and she knew she needed to get in on it. Without wasting another second, she turned on her heels and hurried toward the back door.

"I better get out of here," she said as she checked the view out the back to make sure it was clear. She wasn't going to let Joe in on her plans. The less he knew, the safer he'd be. "Thanks for the info."

He grabbed her shoulder as she started to open the door and slip out. "Hey, Buffy… I-I wish I could help you," he said with a weak shrug. "You guys have been good to me… I feel like I should be giving you a hand, but…"

Buffy smiled at him and shook her head. "Nope. You've got your own worries. Just remember, you never saw me."

"Saw who?" he joked lightly.

"Exactly," she winked back.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy tailed the group of three as they walked down Main Street. She was trying her best to be calm and casual about it, despite the fact that her head was spinning. The notice that was now being posted all over town had done more than enough to rattle her nerves.

_**ATTENTION**_

_The sentence of death by hanging has been passed upon Rupert Giles, Faith Lehane, and Dean Winchester for the crimes of murder and high treason against the state. _

_All citizens are asked to assemble in front of the former Post Office at 4 P.M. sharp in order to witness the administration of justice upon these traitors._

It was even signed by Quentin Travers himself, just like he was God or something. Crimes against the state? Seriously? If Buffy didn't know better, she would swear she'd been sent to some freaky Wild West alternate reality. The Council was actually going to stage a hanging. It was so bizarre. And who in the hell were they supposed to have murdered anyway? None of it made rational sense. The level of pure weirdness would be hilarious if it weren't so horrifying. The only thing keeping it from being completely cliché was the fact that the execution was taking place at four in the afternoon rather than at high noon. She guessed that was because they needed time to build the gallows, which a group of men from the town were already busy constructing. Again, it was like being trapped in an old Western… an extremely bad old Western.

She kept telling herself that this was good news. It proved that Dean was still alive and she also knew precisely where he would be in almost exactly eight hours. With that thought in mind she continued on her mission, banking on the fact that trusting this Willow was not a mistake. However, she'd been so lost in her thoughts that she realized the group of three was no longer in front of her. She began to turn around and retrace her steps when she was caught off guard by two large hands which pulled her off the street and into a small alleyway between two buildings. She didn't fight back once she realized she had been 'captured' by the very people she was stalking. At least she didn't have to worry about finding them again. The man pinned her shoulders against a brick wall before demanding in an angry whisper, "_Who the hell are you? And why are you following us?" _


	16. Chapter 16

**~ Chapter 16 ~**

"_Buffy?"_ Willow gasped. "Is that really you?"

Buffy easily pushed the big stranger's hands off of her and turned an irritated glare on the more familiar form of Willow. "Hush!" she whispered harshly. "_Jeez_. Why don't you just make an announcement? I'm not sure Quentin heard you."

The sheepish expression on the girl's face was so much like her old Willow that Buffy almost forgot how incredibly angry she was with this version, and the sight of Tara standing behind her just added to the disconnect. Yeah, she should have been shocked to see her, but she was way past finding anything surprising by this point.

"Sorry," Willow whispered as she glanced around anxiously. "I-I'm just surprised is all… You're supposed to… I mean, I don't…" She floundered around for a moment before simply asking, "How?"

Buffy peeked her head out of the alley and was relieved to see no one in their immediate vicinity. "Don't worry, I'll explain it all. But we need to go somewhere a little more private."

"We're holed up in a house a block back," the man offered. Buffy noticed that he seemed very distracted by her presence. Ever since Willow had id'd her, he couldn't quit staring. She was beginning to feel like a zoo animal.

"Stare much?" she asked him irritably. No sleep, dimension hopping, and worries about what Dean might be going through had all conspired to make her one cranky lady.

"Sorry," he said sincerely. "It's just… _Never mind_. You're right, we better get off the street first."

She nodded her agreement and the four of them proceeded to casually stroll toward the supposed safe house. It was important that they act like everything was normal and not project any 'sneaking around' vibes.

As they walked, she pondered who the guy was. She'd been a bit surprised by his voice when he spoke, it was much gentler than his appearance would suggest. Of course, most men tended to look a little rough wearing the required 'refugee uniform' as she'd come to think of it. More than once she'd been surprised by the men who had emerged from underneath all the heavy beards and dirty clothes. But it wasn't just the scraggly appearance with this one. He was huge. The guy gave new meaning to 'tall' and he was also very broad across the shoulders, and Joe was right, he carried himself like a hunter or a soldier. She guessed most people probably found him quite intimidating. She couldn't help but smile a little to herself when she thought about how Dean would react to no longer being the biggest, baddest man in town. He was not a small man himself by any means, but this guy was definitely bigger, and she predicted that would be a source of at least a little grumbling… and she would be getting him back so that he could do that grumbling. There was no question. She couldn't allow herself to even think of any other alternative.

During the mostly silent, five minute walk, Buffy once again found herself thankful for the bitter bite in the air today. Without it, the streets would be more packed and people would be more chatty. As it was, they were able to walk a block back and several over without meeting anyone.

"It's not much warmer in here," the guy said apologetically once they'd all stepped inside the small, nondescript white one-story. "I already burned all the wooden chairs and gathering firewood's not exactly my highest priority right now."

"Mine neither," Buffy agreed. Right now she wasn't even feeling the cold. There were too many other things on her mind. She watched the guy curiously as he led the group into the living room area and gestured politely toward the recliner.

"So, you're the one," he remarked as he returned her curious gaze. "Wow, gotta say… I thought you'd be taller." The last part was obviously intended as a joke. Yeah, she was kind of short, but almost everyone must seem short to this guy.

She shrugged and wrinkled her brow in confusion. She wasn't sure what he meant by his 'the one' remark. "Okaaay… Willow and Tara I've got covered, so looks like you're the mystery man here."

Buffy ignored Tara's shocked stuttering and kept her eyes locked on the man in front of her. There was something about him that seemed familiar. He certainly didn't look like anyone she knew, but there was still something there she couldn't quite put her finger on. Maybe it was the way he moved or something about the way he spoke? Whatever it was, there was a definite air of familiarity about this guy.

"I'm Sam," he said as he held out a hand for her to shake. "Sam Winchester. Dean's my brother. I take it you're Buffy, the 'love of his life'. I believe it too, because I never thought he'd be crazy enough to open a door to another dimension… not after what happened last time someone tried that."

Sam looked a little embarrassed by what he'd said, but Buffy was barely aware of returning his handshake and mumbling something generic like "nice to meet you". It was funny how old rituals came so automatically, even in this majorly bizarre situation. "But you're… You're supposed to be..."

"Dead?" Sam finished for her. "Yeah, I'm sure he thought so. Anybody would. Only his stubborn ass woulda wondered around in this mess for a year, trying to hunt down a ghost without any leads or resources."

Buffy sat down on the dust-covered recliner and listened in stunned silence to what she was sure was a very abbreviated version of how Dean's brother had been MIA for two years, and then to how Willow, Dean, Faith, and Giles had escaped into the woods and stumbled upon him and Tara. And finally, to how the three of them had returned to find that the cabin was empty and to witness the sight of a helicopter flying away in the distance.

"I was on my way here," Sam concluded. "Been tracking Dean for a good year at least. I knew I was close, but _damn_. Gotta say I was a little shocked to see him turn up on my doorstep like that. Course, Dean's full of surprises," he added with a fond and definitely worried smile.

"Yeah," Buffy agreed with a nod, unsure of what to say after that story. "So uhhh…. I guess you're the big brother?"

Sam chuckled lightly and shook his head. "Better not say that too loud. Dean won't like it. I'm the little brother and believe me, he won't ever let me forget it. Once we get him back, I'd be surprised if it takes him an entire five minutes to start ordering me around again."

Buffy returned his smile. This guy really did know Dean and him being the oldest actually made a whole lot of sense. Poor Dean, he'd spent all this time not knowing what had happened to his younger brother and he'd kept it all to himself. That had to be agonizing, and it explained a lot about his almost desperate need to control the world around him. It was a wonder the not knowing hadn't driven him completely insane. If the same thing had happened to Dawn, she wasn't sure how she would have coped.

"Sorry for the major faux pas," she said with a small smile. "I didn't know who was older. Didn't know you ever existed until a month or two ago," she finished in a much more sober tone, her voice trailing off at the end, "He doesn't tell me anything."

"Don't feel bad. He doesn't tell _anybody_ anything," Sam replied with the sympathy of someone who knew what he was talking about. "If my brother can't kill it, he tries to pretend it didn't happen, and if that doesn't work, he does his best to drown it away with cheap booze. He has an entire system worked out," he joked, although it was obvious he didn't find the subject at all amusing. "The real kicker is - the more you mean to him, the less he shares. Dude thinks he has to be the tough one twenty-four/seven. Somewhere along the line he decided it was a sin for him to have his own needs."

Buffy lowered her head to escape Sam's gaze. It was like he could read her mind, and right now she couldn't get bogged down in worrying about the walls Dean had put up to protect himself (and supposedly others). She planned on having plenty of time to deal with that once she had him back. Getting him back – that was the only thing that was important. The rest would come later. She took a deep breath and cleared her throat before regarding the three people in front of her with a new determination. The Slayer was in charge now. "We need to get down to business," she announced with authority.

"Okay, I'm all for that. But… still confused," Willow remarked with a raised hand and a crinkled brow. "I don't understand how you're even here. Did my dimension opening spell go kablooey? Because I was pretty sure—"

"Oh, it worked," Buffy interrupted in a very clipped tone. "It worked perfectly, in fact."

XXXXXXXXXX

At least they had cut him down, Dean did have that much to be thankful for. Of course, Travers just wanted to make sure he was up and fully conscious for his execution. Whatever. That was fine with Dean. As long as he was no longer hanging by his wrists, he could care less about the reason behind it. He had enough to contend with trying to fend off both the cold and the lingering hallucinations from the drug.

The drug had faded enough to where he was able to keep most of the visions at bay. Mostly, he just saw flashes out of the corner of his eye. Thankfully, the worst of it had faded to the periphery of his vision. Now it was a lot like a bad acid trip. The hallucinations weren't solid anymore and they fell apart if he looked at them head on. Those he could ignore, it was the lingering memories and fears that were the problem.

Part of him was no longer sure if he'd ever really left hell in the first place. Maybe everything that happened since Cas pulled him out was only an illusion cooked-up by Alistair to mess with his head. What if he'd never left? What if Buffy was just some poor, tortured soul on the rack? That would be an ingeniously cruel trick, one that would be sure to break him like no physical torment ever could. Rationally he knew it wasn't so, but hours of torture and misery piled on top of exhaustion and grief were making 'rational' harder and harder to come by. Deep down, he was still terrified. No matter how much he told himself that none of what he'd seen was real, he was still afraid that he was wrong and Buffy - who was the best thing to ever happen to him - was actually the true illusion and his only real contact with her had been as her torturer.

XXXXXXXXXX

Once Buffy had finished reading Willow the riot act, she reached into her backpack and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. "Here," she said as she held it toward her.

"What is it?" Willow asked as she cautiously accepted the document. She definitely looked nervous.

"It's the recipe for how to break the binding spells, courtesy of Alternate-Universe-Willow. You know, the Will I don't want to strangle right now. We did some shopping in my old dimension's magic shop. Everything you'll need is in the bag," she said as she patted the side of the backpack.

Willow unfolded the paper and gaped at it in amazement. "This actually looks like my handwriting. It's so weird!"

"Yeah, it really is," Buffy agreed. "And just to make things clear - if you ever perform magic on me without my consent _ever again_, I will make bread from your bones. Got it?"

Willow looked at the paper again, her eyes growing even wider. "I… uh, yeah… I mean, yes. _Big YES._ This is _amazing! _Does it… Does it work?"

"Definitely," Buffy said and then paused before clarifying. "Well, let's just say I'd be willing to put some serious money on it. The other you is one hell of a witch. You've… I mean, _she's_ pulled me out of more tight spots than I can count. But guess we won't know for sure until I kick Dean's ass." She directed an apologetic shrug in Sam's direction when she said the last part. His brother didn't seem to take it to personally though. Mostly he just looked as stressed as she felt.

"Let's just hope he still has an ass left to kick," he replied in obvious frustration. "I can't believe he's right under our noses and we can't get to him."

Willow frowned her agreement. "I'm really sorry. _It's Ethan._ He's got that building locked down tight. There are protection sigils on every window, door, and wall. I can't even see inside, much less get anybody in. I'm totally locked out."

Buffy sighed her own frustration and buried her face in her hands for a moment before looking up and asking, "You sure?"

"Really sure. Those guards out front are completely redundant, believe me. Even if we took out all of them, we'd still never be able to get our little toe inside. That place is open by invitation only, and we're most definitely not on the guest list."

"Then we wait until four," Buffy stated flatly. "I don't like it, but we have no other choice. They'll be vulnerable once they're outside. If Quentin Travers had any sense, he'd stage a private indoors execution. But lucky for us, he's an arrogant, attention-seeking moron. We'll hit them when they're all out in the open. If Quentin wants a public show so badly, we'll give him one."

Sam seemed to be in reluctant agreement. Buffy could tell he didn't like the idea of leaving Dean in the Council's hands for several more hours and she sure as hell didn't like it either, but there were no other options on the table. They may only have one chance to get this right. So, both of them would have to suck it up and deal. However, Willow looked like she was having a completely different set of reservations. In fact, she looked sort of sick.

"Buffy, Ethan Rayne is the Council's biggest gun," she groaned. "He's the baddest of the bad, and I don't know if I'm powerful enough to beat him. He just might take us all out."

"Nope. I don't want to hear that. Ethan Rayne is a joke compared to you. So far everybody's double has been almost exactly the same, aside from some surface-y type stuff. Trust me Will, you can put him to shame. And if you team up with Tara, no force on this earth can stop you. _I know this_," she emphasized off of Tara's nervous expression. She continued, even though she knew it would probably embarrass the 'not yet a couple'. "The two of you are one hell of a pair with some serious chemistry, magical and otherwise. _Use it_."

XXXXXXXXXX

Dean thought he'd been freezing his ass off in that basement, but now that he was outside, he decided to revise that opinion. This, this was cold. It was downright miserable out here, in fact. Of course being shirtless definitely added to the discomfort.

This was the first time he'd laid eyes on Faith and Giles since being 'taken into custody'. Funny thing was, that asshole Travers actually referred to it that way. Dude really did drink his own Kool-Aid. In his mind, all of this was totally official and professional. He wouldn't be surprised if there was paperwork involved. Dean was convinced the bastard truly believed he was in the right, which just went to prove that people could be way scarier than demons at times. At least demons knew they were evil and were therefore sort of predictable. The mental acrobatics people were capable of made them much less straightforward and in many ways more dangerous. If you wanted proof that some people were just as evil as demons, all you had to do was look at the condition of the three of them.

Faith and Giles had definitely not had an easy night either, judging from the variety of bumps and bruises on their faces, and the slow, stiff way that Giles was walking. They both still had shirts on though, so they were one-up on him. He felt like a baby even thinking this way, but he was starting to suspect that he'd gotten the short end of the stick in this deal. Basically, this was personal. Quentin Travers seemed convinced that Dean was chiefly responsible for the break in his ranks, the loss of a powerful slayer, and most likely anything and everything else that had ever crawled up his ass and died… which was a lot judging from the stiff way dude walked around. Travers had made sure to tell Dean that he "sorely regretted" not killing him the day they met. He should have known then and there that Dean Winchester was trouble and "dealt with him accordingly". Dean had laughed in his face. The guy was one twisted fuck.

All three of them had their hands cuffed behind their backs as they were pushed out into the street. Faith's hands, he noticed, were also secured with several of those plastic zip ties that cops used to use as disposable handcuffs. He knew from experience that those things were a bitch to try and get out of. Obviously they were taking no chances with the slayer.

They were led at gunpoint into the center of Main Street. As he'd expected, everyone in town was there, and despite how bitterly cold it was outside, there was a circus-like atmosphere. He'd learned that some of these people were pretty damn bloodthirsty when he'd killed Eric Fleenor, but this was even worse. They were whooping and hollering like a bunch of rabid rednecks now, and the ranks of the bloodthirsty had most definitely grown. The fact that his chest was raw with cuts and electrical burns, and his back was one large bleeding bruise seemed to thrill them to no end. It was hard to make out many of the cat calls, but "fucking coldhearted murderer" seemed to be a particularly popular new name for him. To tell the truth, he was actually a little thrown by that one, considering many of the people calling him that were the same ones who'd cheered loudest the night he'd shot Eric down in front of them. Public opinion was apparently a very fickle thing.

Then he saw it up ahead. The friggin gallows of all things. They were actually going to hang him. It was hilarious. Thank God for unbelievable bullshit. At least he'd be able to go out laughing.

"Awesome," he observed with a huge smile as he was led past Quentin Travers and four of his bodyguards. "Good job, dude! I bet this is exactly how Eastwood does it in his town."

He paid for being a smartass when one of the men behind him shoved him hard in the middle of the back. The shove caused him to lose his footing just as they were being led up the wooden steps to the platform that now stood elevated above Main Street. Without the use of his arms for balance, Dean face-planted right on the top step and busted his bottom lip wide open, much to the enjoyment of the Peanut Gallery. But this time, he did hear some distressed gasps in the crowd and the guy named Rhodes, who he suspected was on their side, pulled him back onto his feet. The man was right in front of the boss, but Dean couldn't help but feel the dude had some sympathy in his eyes and was a little gentler helping him back up than he had to be. Looked like a few people still had their souls intact.

XXXXXXXXXX

"That son of a bitch," Sam growled under his breath when he saw his brother being pushed. He started forward, but Buffy grabbed him by the arm and held him at her side.

"Not yet," she warned in a stern whisper. "Wait for Willow to give us the signal."

It was one of the hardest things she'd ever done, but Buffy knew they had to be patient and play this right. When she'd seen how badly beaten Dean was, she'd almost said to hell with the plan and confronted them all right then. She'd never truly wanted to kill another human being before this moment, and now she was pretty sure she could not only kill Quentin Travers, but also every single member of his entourage, and all without batting an eyelash. It was sort of scary actually, but she wasn't allowing herself to linger on it. If she got her chance and it meant saving Dean, there could be no hesitation. Besides, anyone who could put another human being through what Dean had obviously been put through was a monster, and she slayed monsters.

As Quentin Travers took the stage a chorus of cheering went up, and he was eating it up of course. Buffy truly did not understand what was wrong with at least half of the town. She'd heard lots of angry whispers since she'd been standing here, attempting to melt into the crowd. A lot of them centered around Dean and the 'horrible' thing he'd done. She couldn't believe that so many were upset at his supposed betrayal of the Council. Who was the Council to them anyway? The Council sure as hell hadn't secured this town or, in one way or another, saved the life of every single person in it. It was like some sort of insanity bug was in the air, but thankfully some seemed to be immune. Those people just looked sick and shocky, and in the case of Noah, completely devastated. She'd wanted to comfort him in some way, but decided it was too risky for both of them and made sure to stand well away from him and his mother.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Quentin began as a hush fell over the crowd. "I do apologize that you good people have been called out on a dreadful day such as this. Unfortunately this was necessary, as there are some who seem determined to tear apart that which you have built. I'm aware that word has gotten around. However, for those of you who may still remain blissfully ignorant, I regret that I have some very sad news to report. Not only have these three," he turned and gestured behind him, but before he could continue, Dean launched a large blob of spit and blood at him. His aim was perfect. It landed on his left cheek and sat there for a second before beginning to slide slowly down his face. Quentin's features were the perfect picture of shock and disgust. Buffy cheered. She couldn't help herself, it just slipped out. Thank God she was drowned out by all the booing and cursing going on around her. Otherwise, they'd have been busted right then and there. Her joy was short lived though, she knew that the payback for that action would be swift and harsh. She held her breath and kept a tight grip on Sam as one of the Council's henchman stepped toward Dean, obviously bent on revenge. Dean grinned and said something she couldn't hear. Knowing him, it was something super smart ass-y. But, to her surprise, Quentin stopped the man before he could strike.

"No, Mr. Davis. Thank you, but there will be no need for that. We won't be stooping to this savage's level. Today, we shall prove that civility and compassion are once again in control here." He paused for a moment to compose himself and clean his face with his pocket handkerchief, then cleared his throat loudly. "As I was saying… The three people standing before you here today have not only been working against the establishment of law and order in this town, they have also taken something very important from you all. I regret to inform you that Miss Buffy Summers was murdered by them when she refused to raise her hand against the Council. She gave her life…"

Buffy didn't hear the rest. Her brain was still trying to play catch-up. Quentin Travers was an evil genius, she had to give him that much. The man had managed to explain away her absence in a way that benefited him the most. It was a move clearly designed to unite the town against Dean and anyone else who stood with him. Now the townspeople's attitudes made a little more sense. It still wasn't excusable, but at least it made more sense. She could hardly wait until she was able to expose Quentin for what he was. Desperately, she sought out Willow's gaze. Both witches were to position themselves closer to the platform that held the gallows. She just prayed they were good to go, because she couldn't listen to another syllable of this ridiculous, pompous speech.

She found Willow quite easily, even though she was all bundled up with a scarf covering her mouth and nose. Only her eyes were visible, but all Buffy needed to see was the gesture she made with her gloved hand. Thumbs up. It was on.

XXXXXXXXXX

A/N: Obviously I didn't wrap it up in this chapter either, so I hope you'll stick around. Thanks so much for reading.


	17. Chapter 17

**~ Chapter 17 ~**

Even though the stakes were high, the 'battle' was anti-climactic as far as great slayer-y battles go. What were a dozen armed men and one witch after you'd faced down master vampires and hell gods?

As soon as Willow gave her the 'all go', Buffy pulled the hidden crossbow from her jacket and surged forward through the crowd at full speed. Some of the people in her way ended up losing their balance and falling to the pavement from the force of her shoving, but she wasn't feeling terribly charitable towards many of the townspeople at the moment anyway. A few skinned knees and palms compared to what Dean and the others had been through seemed more than acceptable.

Her goal was to make it onto the platform and get a hold of Quentin Travers. Once she had him secured, it should be all but over. She would be greatly surprised if any of his so-called bodyguards were going to actually be willing to risk their lives for him if it came down to it.

Buffy had asked Willow to focus her magical talents on Ethan Rayne. He was the only true threat as far as she was concerned. She was pleased, but not surprised, when Will and Tara clasped hands and shot a bright red beam at Ethan, imprisoning him in a shimmery force field before he was able to do more than send one ineffective blast that virtually bounced off the pair. The pair remained standing in deep concentration with their hands clasped, holding Ethan so still that he resembled petrified wood. With the threat from him out of the way, Buffy was free to handle the rest.

As she ran, she stripped off the heavy coat and hood she was wearing. It allowed her to move more easily and get to the weapons that were strapped to her body, but it also had the advantage of causing panic and confusion. Travers' eyes locked on hers as gasps of recognition went through the crowd. She paused long enough to look up and smile coldly at him. It was clear that she was the last thing he, the guards, or anyone else expected to see here today. The combined shock gave her the precious few moments she desperately needed. The guards remained frozen as Quentin stared at her in utter disbelief. Then he seemed to come back to himself and gave the order she'd been dreading, but nevertheless expecting. "Do it," he yelled frantically as he turned to look behind him. "Do it now!"

The guard, who stood by the lever that controlled the trap doors on the gallows, reached up to grab the handle, but the crossbow bolt Buffy launched was much quicker than he was. The man stared in disbelief at the arrow that had pierced completely through his hand before doubling over in pain. He no longer seemed interested in following through with the hanging, especially not when he looked up and saw Sam pointing a loaded gun at him.

Travers barked another order, but the rest of the guards seemed uncertain as to what to do. They kept their rifles pointed at the ground and several appeared to be whispering to one another as they watched Buffy hop onto the stage in one graceful leap. Quentin looked truly desperate and the arrogant air of aloofness that usually surrounded him melted away as he screamed for the guards to do their duty and shoot her down. Finally, one of the guards standing beside him raised his gun and leveled it at her, but Buffy took out one of his legs with the crossbow before he could fire off a shot. Then she snatched up his rifle and threw it down to the pavement with enough force to break it into several pieces. When she turned back toward the other guards with a challenge in her eyes, none seemed willing to engage her. Travers had pulled his own pistol though, and he pointed it at her with shaking hands.

Buffy wasn't exactly worried. He was shaking so badly, she doubted he could hit the broad side of a barn at the moment, much less someone with her reflexes. She was prepared to make her move on him when the large guard she remembered as Rhodes leveled his own pistol at Quentin's head and rather casually took the pistol away from the stunned man.

"We're done here," he announced, speaking into the microphone so that everyone would hear. "The Council was not formed to kill or enslave the Slayers. That is not where our duty lies. You've overstepped your authority, Mr. Travers," he stated calmly. "I am relieving you of your position."

Buffy almost laughed. It was such a perfectly understated and very British thing to say.

Quentin Travers, however, clearly wasn't amused or ready to admit defeat. "You can't do that," he said arrogantly. "I'm still the only one who knows exactly how the binding spells operate. This girl and all the others remain very much under my control. You cannot do this without me."

Buffy snorted a laugh. "You don't look very _in control_ right now," she remarked. "So, I'm gonna go ahead and call bullshit."

"Come here then, girl," he said a bit more confidently. "Put down that weapon of yours and see if you can take an old man in some simple hand-to-hand combat. If I am indeed '_not in control'_ as you say… it shouldn't be difficult."'

Buffy stared at the man in disbelief, fully convinced that he'd finally gone off the deep end, and then it hit her. It made perfect sense too. Of course the binding spells weren't just limited to the hunter a Slayer was bound to. One man held the master key which bound all the Slayers and, obviously, that man would be Quentin Travers. Whatever. It didn't change anything. Just meant it was time to test how well the unbinding spell worked. And even if it hadn't worked, her plan hadn't changed. She was determined to scratch his eyes out if it came down to it. She was still a trained fighter and he was still nothing but a stuffy, cowardly, old bastard.

From behind her, she could hear Giles warning her to be careful and Faith shouting for her to wait for backup, but she didn't turn around. She understood that Faith wanted in on this too, but Buffy was feeling a bit selfish at the moment. Quentin Travers was all hers and she wasn't in the sharing mood.

She bent slightly and placed the crossbow on the ground and then followed it with an assortment of blades that she had strapped to her body. She kept her eyes locked on Travers' the entire time. When she straightened and began to walk slowly toward him, his lips twisted into an arrogant smirk. Buffy beamed a huge smile back at him and reached inside of her sweater to pull out the pendant she was wearing. When the light of the afternoon sun hit the transparent stone, it glittered brilliantly, reflecting a stunning shade of blue.

"Oooh, did I hit a nerve?" she asked as his smirk suddenly faded. "I know most men aren't all that into jewelry, but I think it's pretty. What's wrong? Don't you like?" she added with a fake pout.

"It takes more than a simple chunk of fossilized tree resin to break a binding spell," he remarked, trying desperately to maintain face. The sweat on his brow was a definite tell, however,

"Yeah, it really does," Buffy agreed. "Turns out it requires a very specific recipe, and I had to go a looong way to get it. You wouldn't believe me if I told you." She was standing in front of him now, with only inches between them and she could practically feel the rage radiating off of the man.

"You impertinent little girl," he spat.

Buffy stood perfectly still as he directed an open-handed slap at her face. She waited until the last second before grabbing his wrist just as his hand was about to make contact with her cheek. "_Ooops_," she grinned triumphantly. "Looks like this impertinent little girl wins. Guess that sucks for you."

She twisted the speechless man's arm behind his back and spun him around to face the crowd which had erupted in a loud cacophony of everything from stunned gasps, to cheers, and even nervous whispering.

"You've all been had," Buffy said as she stepped up closer to the mike, dragging a very unhappy Quentin Travers along with her. "The facts surrounding my untimely death were just a little exaggerated… and honestly, I'm seriously disappointed in a lot of you. The Council didn't build this town. In fact, they haven't done anything for us that didn't involve lies, murder, and whole load of bureaucratic crap. This man doesn't care about you! The only thing he cares about is power, and you're so eager to hand it over to him, and then cheer while he tortures and kills one of the few people willing to actually do the real work. I guess it's just hard to beat a good old fashioned staged execution and banquet."

XXXXXXXXXX

"My God, Dean!" Sam gasped as he pulled the noose from around his neck and immediately started to work on picking the lock to the handcuffs. "What did they do to you? You're one giant, bleeding bruise. Jesus Christ!"

"Usual stuff," he mumbled as he watched the surreal scene unfolding around him. Several members of the 'enemy team' were busy releasing Giles and Faith, which was something he sure as hell hadn't expected. But none of it compared to the tiny girl standing at the edge of the platform, holding that son of the bitch Travers and making some sort of pissed-off sounding speech to the crowd. Either the drugs were still affecting him more than he'd thought or he'd finally completely flipped his lid. She had glanced back at him several times since taking the platform, and all he could do was stare. She looked solid enough, but what he was seeing just wasn't possible, especially since she kept morphing from a perfectly beautiful and healthy-looking young woman to a cut and bleeding victim of the rack, a mere shadow of her former self.

He unfroze and forced his confusion to the back of his mind when he saw her raising a blade to the man's throat. He also noticed that Travers was trying to be stealthy about reaching for something in his coat pocket. A flash of something metallic made him realize it was a blade of some sort. Even if this was real, he knew the man didn't have a chance of getting the drop on Buffy, but that didn't matter. Illusion or not, real threat or not, Dean had one chance to save her. One chance to ensure she didn't have to know what it was really like to kill a man. He couldn't let her do it, even in his imagination. If it was the last thing he did, he'd shield her from that knowledge. She'd probably be pissed about it too, but tough. He loved her, whoever she actually was or wherever she may be in the so-called real world. Although he often failed, he always tried his best to protect the people he loved. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do for them, or any burden he wouldn't gladly take on. It was the one part of his identity that had kept him from completely despising himself, and the only thing that had kept him relatively sane over the past few years.

With speed and dexterity that surprised even him, he snatched the large hunting knife from his brother's belt and stumbled forward, determined to hold onto consciousness just a little bit longer.

XXXXXXXXXX

Buffy jerked Quentin Travers' head back and held it still as she brought the large knife up against his throat. She hesitated, trying to force herself to set aside the fact that this was a human life, no matter how deserving of death this particular human was. It would be easier if this was a heat of the moment type of situation. She didn't believe she would hesitate under those circumstances. But now, it was different. He had no chance against her and there was no actual immediate threat from him, even if she did realize he was reaching for something in his pocket that was most likely sharp and pointy.

She knew that as long as he survived, he would be a danger to her and everyone she cared about. He knew too much, and he had no qualms with using that knowledge to hurt others. This man would never gracefully acknowledge defeat or give up his quest for power. As long as he was alive, he would try to regain his throne and lives would be lost because of it.

She took a deep breath and steeled herself to make the cut, summoning visions of what he'd done to Dean in order to find the rage necessary to kill the man. She paused when he made an odd strangled, gurgling noise, but decided it was just a symptom of his fear. However, the stream of blood trickling from his open mouth was even more unexpected, because she was certain that her blade hadn't even touched him yet. She watched in shock as his eyes widened and then his gaze became fixed and distant. He was wearing the same expression she'd seen far too many times on the victims of vampires and other supernatural creatures. It was the open-eyed stare of someone who was no longer one of the living. She continued to look at his face, transfixed, until a grunt broke through the sound of her heart pounding in her chest. Quentin's body moved slightly in her grip and she glanced back to see Dean pulling a large knife from the man's back. He'd done it. He had killed Quentin Travers before she had the chance. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Angry and frustrated, definitely, but also a little relieved too.

"Dean," she gasped when he appeared ready to fall over face first with the blade still in hand. She dropped Travers' lifeless body and her knife, flinching a little at the thud the body made when it hit the wooden planks of the platform. She reached out and grabbed Dean by his upper arms, which was one spot that was fairly free of injury. This was the first time she'd been this close to him or touched him since he'd pushed her through the portal, and she was overwhelmed by a variety of strong emotions. Dean, however, mostly just looked incredibly confused. His brows were drawn together and his mouth hung slightly open as he gazed back at her. It was as if he was unsure who or what he was seeing. He looked at her and then down at the blood-covered blade in his hand. Distantly, she was aware that she was almost completely supporting his weight with no effort at all. Just further proof that Willow's spell had worked.

"Dean," she repeated more urgently as she shook him slightly. "Dean, say something," she demanded as a note of panic snuck into her voice. He looked afraid, terrified even, and he flinched visibly at the sound of her voice.

"I'm sorry," he said almost in a whisper. Then his gaze fell back to the hand that held the blade and she could feel the jolt of pure panic that wracked his body as he attempted to wrench away from her grasp. That was when she registered the fact that Sam was standing beside him. He'd been there the whole time, but she hadn't really seen him before now. Her focus had been squarely on Dean.

"Dean," he said in a calm, even voice. "It's okay, man. It's over. We need to get you patched up now."

Dean turned his head toward the sound of his brother's voice. "Sammy?" he asked uncertainly, before holding up the blade and his bloody hands. "I've got blood on my hands… It won't come off. It's always there."

"No, it's not," Sam said gently as he cautiously held out a hand. "You're just messed up right now, man. You need to give me the knife and let us help you, okay?"

"What are you doing here?" he asked desperately as he shook his head in denial. "You shouldn't even be here, Sam. Alistair's just fucking with me again… He makes me see things. He makes me see _her_," he added almost confidentially as he quickly cut his eyes back to Buffy. It was killing her, because he actually looked afraid of her. It was like he couldn't even stand to look at her and even though he could barely stand on his own two feet, he seemed determined to escape her grasp. She didn't understand what was going on.

Sam, however, seemed to realize something she didn't. He sighed and cursed under his breath before wrapping his hands around his brother's arms as well, just above his elbows. "I've got him, Buffy," he said, being sure not to take his eyes off of the blade in Dean's hand.

She reluctantly released her hold and stepped back when she was sure that Sam had a good grip on him, and that he wouldn't be falling face first onto the knife blade. It was excruciating, but she decided to stand back and give his brother a chance, since he appeared to have a better handle on what was happening.

"Dean, listen to me," Sam emphasized. "I don't know what you're seeing right now, but this is not hell. Alistair is not here. I killed him, remember? You're just hurt and you're confused, but you'll be okay. I promise. Let go of the knife, dude. Trust me."

Dean looked hopeful for a brief second, then his features became hard and he struggled against his brother as he attempted to brandish the blade in front of him. "You're not real," he gritted out. "You're just here to make me remember what a monster I am."

He once again glanced reluctantly at Buffy. She decided that a cut from that blade couldn't possibly hurt any worse than the fear and revulsion in his eyes when he looked at her. Then things got even more confusing.

"Don't let me hurt her, Sam," he pleaded. "_Please_, you have to stop me! I can't do this anymore! He won't let me put the blade down. Once I started, I couldn't stop… and now he won't let me. I'm so tired, Sammy. I can't stand to look at her like that anymore."

Sam looked at Buffy in sympathy before turning his attention back to Dean. "She's fine, Dean. You can look at her. She's okay. You haven't done _anything_ to her," he emphasized. "I need you to focus for me. Did they do something to you that could make you see things… like a spell, or maybe a drug?"

Dean nodded his head and there appeared to be some understanding in his eyes. "That bastard Ethan… he shot me up with something..." he said before trailing off and becoming transfixed by his bloody hands again. "I don't know what's real, Sam. I don't know where I am. _Sammy_," he said desperately, the plea for help clear in his eyes.

Buffy started forward, determined to grab hold of Dean and convince him that he was safe now, but his brother shook his head at her. "Trust me. Just give me a minute…. and please don't break my arm for what I'm about to do," he asked before returning his attention back to Dean. "Dean, do you remember what you told me about how to tell the difference between what's real and what's not?" he asked. "Remember how you taught me how to tell what was just memories of hell and what wasn't? Dean just continued to look at him blankly, until Sam pressed his thumb into one of the burn marks on his chest and he cried out in pain. "The pain here is real, Dean. It feels different. Remember?"

It was a good thing he'd warned her first, because Buffy probably would have broken Sam's arm for doing that to Dean. Even with the warning, it was still tempting. She'd probably do it if it weren't for the fact that he looked like what he was doing was hurting him more than it was his brother. After an agonizing couple of seconds, Sam finally pulled his hand away. Dean swayed in his step, breathing heavily, but he looked up with a gaze that was much sharper and saner.

"You're real?" he asked, sounding amazed and still a little unsure.

"Yeah man," Sam confirmed with a nod and a small smile. "I'm real. And she's real too," he said as he inclined his head toward Buffy. "And you're _really_ going to die of hypothermia if we don't get you inside soon," he added.

Dean turned his own head cautiously, like he was afraid of what he might see. But, to her relief, he didn't look terrified when his eyes fell on her. He just looked amazed. "How?" was all he managed to ask.

This time, Sam moved out of the way when she stepped forward. "It's a long story," she said softly. "A long story that was supposed to end in me severely kicking your ass… but looks like somebody beat me to it." She tried to smile, but her voice broke over the last few words. He was so cut up and battered. It was hard to believe he was still standing.

"The portal didn't work?"

"It worked, but I came back," she said simply as she reached for his hands. "I'll tell you all about it later… just give me that knife."

Panic showed in his face again and he tightened his grip on the blade's handle. "No, don't! Please stay away from that blade. You don't understand. I can't put it down and I'll hurt you. I'm dangerous, Buffy. You don't know what I've done."

Buffy disregarded his words and proceeded to pry his fingers away from the knife handle. "You're not dangerous," she said firmly. "You're not going to do anything to me. You would never do that." She held the freed blade up for him to see before handing it over to his brother. "See. You can put it down. It's gone now."

Dean looked at his empty hands for a moment, before looking back up at her. Buffy just smiled and carefully wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned against him gingerly. She didn't want to cause him any more pain. He slowly brought his own arms up and returned her embrace. At that moment, he must have finally convinced himself that she was real, because despite his injuries, he crushed her tightly against him.

"You took that blade right out of my hand," he remarked in wonder as he mumbled against her hair. "You shouldn't be able to do that… I must be slippin'."

"Not exactly," she said as she leaned back slightly and held up the pendant so that he could see it. "Some things have changed. So be warned, because once I get you patched up – that ass kicking is still on the table."

Dean gave her a lopsided grin that somehow managed to be boyish and cute underneath all the swelling and bruises. "Yikes."

"Yikes?" Buffy repeated back with a stunned half-laugh. "Are you serious? That's what you have to say? Really?"

"Yep," Dean mumbled as his head slumped forward and his knees buckled. He'd finally lost his grip on consciousness.

XXXXXXXXXX

He was in his bed. Dean was sure of that much. Everything else was a confusing jumble though. He had foggy memories of being poked and prodded and stitched up. And he was also damn sure there were more drugs involved, but this time they were the good kind. Amidst the drug-induced haze, he could recall Sam's voice speaking to him, asking him questions and pestering him to count how many fingers he was holding up. And he remembered Buffy's voice too, and her gentle hands on him as she washed and dressed the various cuts and burns on his back and chest. He remembered the visions too - the horrible, nightmarish visions of hell that kept trying to break through.

Now that he was more aware, he was almost afraid to open his eyes. He feared that the part about Buffy was just the drugs, his fevered imagination, or a cruel combination of both. He feared that somehow his brother had managed to pull the great escape right beneath the Council's noses and the rest was only wishful thinking.

The door to the bedroom creaked open and he looked up, fully expecting to see that Sam had arrived to pester him some more, but his eyes fell on someone he never actually believed he'd see again.

"You're awake," she announced with a bright smile.

"I guess," he mumbled distractedly, watching in amazement as she came to stand over him and placed a cool hand against his forehead.

"I think the fever's finally gone. You had me worried," she scolded. "I was beginning to think you'd never wake up."

"Buffy?" he croaked out, his voice rough from lack of use.

"Yep, it's me. The one and only. We've been over this at least a thousand times by now. My name is Buffy. I'm a Capricorn on the cusp of Aquarius, and my turn offs include smoking and people who wear socks with sandals. Yes, I am actually here and I'm very, very real," she emphasized slowly. "Why are you determined to be such a stubborn ass?"

"'Cause you're not supposed to be here."

"Yeah, well, I do lots of stuff I'm not _supposed_ to do. That's kinda my signature thing." Buffy's grin faded as she sat down in the chair that was pulled up close to his bedside. "How could you do that?" she asked, her tone no longer flippant or witty. Now she just sounded hurt and kind of angry. "How could you just send me away without even asking me first?"

He drew his brows together and paused a moment before answering. "Because I thought it was what you wanted."

Buffy's face was a mask of frustration. "Why would you think that? Who told you that?"

"_You did._ You told me you wanted to go home," he replied honestly, but that only seemed to enrage her.

"You're blaming me with this? I said that once - months ago - and if I remember correctly you were being the world's biggest jackass at the time! How dare you try to pin this on me! I should—."

"Buffy," he interrupted, cringing a little at the way her angry voice echoed inside of his pounding skull. "I'm not trying to pin anything on you. I'm sorry things went down like that. _I am._ It wasn't supposed to. Everything just got really fucked there at the end. Besides, you've told me other things. You just don't remember them because you were really sick at the time, but _I swear_ I thought I was giving you what you wanted. I don't understand why you'd even come back to this place."

Her anger seemed to have turned into exasperation and she uttered a frustrated groan through gritted teeth. "Don't you know why? Can't you even guess?"

Dean felt a tiny bit of hope as he looked into her eyes, but who was he kidding? "I don't know," he replied tiredly as he turned his head away from her. "I don't know shit. The world makes no goddamn sense. What the hell do you want me to say?"

She wasn't deterred by his gruff tone though. She reached out and turned his face back toward her before replying. "I came back because I'm supposed to be dead in my old world. I have a headstone and everything. I don't belong there anymore. This world needs me now, and I'm way past the point of trying to fight my calling." She stopped and sighed before changing to a softer tone. "Honestly, I've got all sorts of really noble, slayer-related reasons for being here," she said as she took his hands into hers. "All kinds of fancy stuff… and I guess it's even true, but none of those are the real reason I came back. _I came back for you._ I don't want to be anywhere if you're not there with me."

"Buffy, I… I don't get it. Why the hell would you want to be here with me, huh? Have you lost your friggin mind? Like you said, I'm the world's biggest jackass. You should've just stayed where you were and left this giant shithole to the buzzards."

"Is that what you wanted?"

Dean laughed bitterly. "Right. _What I wanted_. That's a good one. It doesn't matter what I want! It never has. Just because I loved you, it didn't make it okay for me to keep you here against your will, order you around, and act like I owned you. You should kick my ass. I don't know why you don't just do it."

"Believe me, the ass kicking is still on the table," Buffy remarked with a small grin. "But the truth is, you do own me. I'm yours. I love you, Dean. I'm your girl. I never lied about that."

"Buffy, don't," he snapped harshly. "Don't even say that. It's messed up. You don't know what you're saying."

Buffy shook her head and stroked his bruised cheek gently. "Yes I do. I know exactly what I'm saying. _I'm yours._ But the thing is… you're mine too. You're mine, just as much as I am yours. So, I think it all evens out. If we're both messed up, I think that cancels it all out. It's like a double negative kinda thing. So, yay us. Together we're completely normal," she added with a playful laugh.

Dean so badly wanted to let himself believe that all of this was true, but he couldn't quite accept it. "I just want you to be happy," he stated firmly. "You deserve it and you should have someone better than me. There are things you don't know, Buffy. Things you don't want to know."

"You make me happy," she insisted. "And I'm sorry, but you're not the monster you try to make yourself out to be. I'm not buying, so quit trying to sell me that load of crap. There's nothing you can tell me that will change my mind about you. You're just a bossy, pain in my ass, and I doubt any of that is magically going to change even if I can break you in half now. Trust me, I'm a big girl and I know what I'm getting myself into. I'm more than happy to take the whole package…" She paused before adding, "But there is one thing I'd change about you."

"What's that?" he asked cautiously.

"The 'sneaky, running around behind Buffy's back, making secret plans' part," she said seriously. "I already warned Willow and it goes double for you. If you EVER try anything like that again - _for any reason_ - I will make you sorry you were ever born. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes ma'am!" he confirmed with a snort and a mock salute. "No more sneaky secret plans. I'll do my best."

"Good," she chirped cheerfully. "Glad that's settled. Now, tell me you love me."

Dean squashed the part of him that told him to throw up his walls, the part that was terrified of losing everything again the moment he dared to believe he had anything to lose. If he wanted a shot at happiness, he'd just have to take a chance. "I love you," he told her as he clasped his hand in hers.

"I love you, too," she said sincerely, leaning forward to place a soft, chaste kiss against his swollen lips. Then she reached down and lightly squeezed his cock through the sheet covering him while grinning mischievously. "I'll even give you a few days to recover before I show you how much. That's how nice I am."

Dean laughed. He never knew what this woman would do next, and he doubted he'd ever get tired of being surprised by her. "Why the hell do you wanna do something like that? I can just lay here and let you do all the work. I'm not too proud to let you hold the whip. Besides, I'm pretty sure I need some serious discipline," he teased with a waggle of his brows and a wolfish grin. "I won't even pick a safe word."

"Trust me," she said. "You'll need to be 100% for this. Even then, you still might not survive the shock."

She winked and grinned back at him, and he took that moment to soak in how beautiful and happy she looked just sitting there in a pair of flannel pajamas and a loose and messy ponytail. It was so amazing that he'd found someone like her after everything he'd been through, and there was no way he was ever letting her go again. Even though the binding spell was broken - this time, she really was stuck with him.

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A/N: Thanks so very much to everyone who has read and followed this story. You have no idea how much I appreciate it. I do plan on following this chapter with one more to wrap up some loose threads and so forth. Okay, that's kinda true, but who am I kidding? Honestly, I'd just like to end it with a bang. *Coughs* - that's code talk for smut.


	18. Chapter 18

__**Chapter 18**__

Dean wasn't home when Buffy got in from patrol, which she thought was odd considering the late hour, but she assumed that he was probably with his brother and maybe even socializing with other actual humans. Having Sam around had done a lot to help bring Dean out of his shell, and since getting back on his feet, he'd started having some friendly interactions with people rather than just scowling at them. She'd decided that if everyone had known this Dean – the one who cracked stupid jokes and even smiled sometimes – they never would have believed the horrible lies Quentin Travers told about him.

That evening she had gone patrolling with Faith as a sort of informal farewell, since the Council folks were all leaving the next morning. This Faith wasn't any more comfortable with the mushy stuff than the other had been, so a good old fashioned patrol seemed like the most appropriate sendoff Buffy could give her. Faith was off to unbind all the Slayers and reorganize the Council with Giles as the undisputed new leader. Buffy wasn't at all surprised to hear that Tara would be joining them. They had made it known that she, Dean, and his brother were more than welcome as well, but their work was here.

The town was constantly growing and with every group of newcomers came a new flood of problems, which always included more monsters. Dean said that it reminded him of a Discovery Channel show he'd seen once. It was an episode where they showed big cats following herds of prey as they moved around from place to place. Except, unfortunately, in this scenario the prey were people instead of gazelles. And unlike big cats, many of these creatures were things no one had seen or heard of before, so killing them was often a challenge. Things didn't seem to be slowing down either. A group of fifteen survivors had arrived just the day before. Needless to say, the logistics of feeding, housing, and protecting all these people would keep them busy for the foreseeable future.

So, Buffy was staying where she felt she was most needed, in the place she now called home. She was the Slayer and being on the front lines was her calling. The day-to-day workings of the Council held very little appeal to her. Plus, she trusted that Giles (with Faith at his side) would make much better choices than Quentin ever had. The Council would be there to help the Slayers rather than control them, and they would actually share their information and resources instead of holding them over everyone's head. She doubted they would end up being perfect, but at least their intentions were much purer and hopefully Quentin's mistakes would not easily be forgotten.

XXXXXXXXXX

Just like in her old world, she and Faith had tried to outdo one another while out on patrol. It was once again a friendly rivalry, but one that ensured she ended up covered in stinky demon goo by the time it was all over with. Because of that, her number one goal was to get a shower and make herself pretty before seeing Dean. She was hoping to have some fun with him tonight - _strike that_ - A LOT of fun.

It had been a while. Over three weeks to be exact. After being injured, he'd gotten extremely sick from being exposed to the cold for so long, which kept him down longer than the injuries alone would have. She guessed she could have given him some relief - god knows he'd dropped anvil sized hints - but she'd decided to make him wait for it. She wanted this to be special. It was kind of like their first time in a way, the first time there were no questions or doubts in either of their minds. So, she made him suck it up and wait until she was convinced he had his strength back.

After she got out of the shower, Buffy planned on getting all prettied up. She was going to blow dry and curl her hair, put on a little makeup, and slip into something sexier than blue jeans or cargo pants for once. It wasn't something she had a lot of opportunity to do, and she wanted to look extra pretty this time. But she took a detour to the kitchen first, wearing only her bathrobe and sporting hair that was still damp after being towel dried and combed. It sounded like Dean was in there clanging around, and she wanted to see what he was up to. She'd been surprised that he hadn't insisted on joining the hunt that evening and had a suspicion that something must be going on with him.

As expected, he was in the kitchen, but she didn't like the implications of what he was doing in there. At the moment, he was attempting to pour some boiling water into a smaller bowl he was holding. She remained quiet, so that he didn't accidentally scorch himself with the liquid, and watched as he carefully carried the small bowl to the kitchen table where he had laid out an assortment of herbs, a large knife, and her amber pendant. He must have slipped inside the bathroom and snagged the stone from the counter while she was busy in the shower. The man was stealthy, she'd have to give him that.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying her best to sound merely curious.

He sprinkled some herbs into the bowl before answering with a rather short, "Finishing a spell."

There was a final step to the unbinding spell. It involved his blood, some herbs, and the smashing of the amber stone. As of now, the power of the binding spell was held trapped inside the polished chunk of amber, but once the ritual was complete and the stone was smashed, the spell would be broken forever.

"What spell?" Buffy asked, although she already knew the answer.

"The spell you didn't finish," he replied with a raised brow. "I was curious about the unbinding spell. Kinda felt like I wasn't getting the whole story, ya know? So I went to see Giles tonight, and he filled me in. Seems there's one more step that you neglected to mention. Guess the 'no more being sneaky' rule only applies to me," he said tightly as he raised the blade with the clear intent of slicing the inside of his arm.

"No, wait!" Buffy said urgently. "Dean, just wait a minute, please."

He shook his head at her. "Come on, Buffy, I'm not an invalid anymore. I can afford to lose a few drops of blood. That was what you were waiting for, right?"

Buffy bit her bottom lip and stood awkwardly for a moment. "I… uh… _not really?_"

"What do you mean, _not really_?"

She shrugged and continued to chew on her lip as he watched her intensely. "I mean, I don't want you to go smashing my pretty jewelry."

"_The hell?_ Buffy, that's crazy. If you want jewelry, I'm sure I can find you some. It's dirt cheap these days. Hell, I can deck you out in diamonds if that's what you want."

She reached out and snatched the pendant from the table and held it protectively against her breasts. "I don't want any other jewelry. I want this."

Dean looked truly puzzled and more than a little irritated with her. _"What the hell for? _Buffy, as long as that thing exists, the magic is still there. Don't you think it's dangerous to leave that kind of mojo hanging around? I don't understand why you kept this from me."

Buffy cringed guiltily. She wasn't exactly setting the best precedent for their newly established rule against secrets. Honestly, she hadn't meant to keep it from him in the first place. "I'm sorry, Dean, I wasn't trying to be sneaky," she attempted to explain. "It's just… I was way too worried about you and about all the other craziness going on around here. I know you're iffy on all the magic-y type stuff, but the only magic that stone holds is what bound me to you, and that doesn't exactly scare me, and I don't want-,"

He interrupted by stepping up close to her and wrapping his hands around her clasped ones, which were both gripped tightly to the stone. "Do you think busting up that stupid rock is going to change anything for me?" he asked seriously. "Is that what this is about? Because that spell didn't make me love you. You do know that, don't you?"

"I know that. _I do_," she emphasized. "It's not that at all. Just give me a chance to explain, okay?"

Dean's face was set in hard angles as he stood back and appraised her coolly. "I'm listening."

Buffy struggled not to smile. Dean was almost ridiculously handsome when he was angry, but this was a very serious subject for both of them, and she didn't want to rile him up any further. He did have a right to be mad.

"I want it because it represents us," she began. "I mean, us at first. We were both kinda like this yucky, sticky, kind of ugly mess. You know, like tree sap…" Buffy trailed off when she realized Dean was looking at her like she was speaking a foreign language, but she decided to plow forward anyway. She still thought she had a good point, even if she wasn't exactly poetic-girl. "Do you know what amber is?" she asked, trying to take a different approach.

"A rock," he said with a smirk.

"No, it's not a rock. It's a fossil, actually. I think its tree sap, or tree something," she frowned as she tried to recall the exact science behind it. "Anyway, the point is - it's kind of messy and not too pretty, but eventually it gets all solid and stuff, and some of it even becomes something really rare and really beautiful… just like us. That spell is what brought us together, Dean, and yeah it was a really messed up spell and all, but," she shrugged, "without it… I wouldn't have you. We probably never would have met. So, it's what brought us together and now it's all wrapped up in a really pretty stone… _and I'm keeping it_," she added firmly.

"Give me that," Dean said with a shake of his head as he pulled the necklace from her hands.

For a second, she thought he intended to go through with completing the ritual, but instead he walked around behind her and fastened the chain back around her throat where she always wore it. Then he turned her around and pulled her into a long, slow, and very tender kiss. Buffy nearly lost herself in his arms, but her scrambled brain somehow managed to remember her plan to make this special. She pulled back and pressed her hands against his chest as she struggled to think straight enough to form actual words. "You have to wait, I'm not ready yet."

Dean looked back at her in stunned amazement. "What the hell do you mean, _you're not ready_? Are you serious? I'm a desperate man."

Buffy rolled her eyes at his dramatics and stood her ground. "I mean, I want to get ready first. Dean, I want to look pretty for you for once. I want to be pretty dream-Buffy instead of plain ole everyday hunting-Buffy. I was hoping this would be special. Look at me, my hair is still-" She was cut off mid-sentence when Dean suddenly snatched her up and tossed her over his shoulder. "Dean! What do you think you're doing!"

"Going caveman," he gloated as he headed toward the bedroom. "Desperate times. Desperate measures. Man's gotta do what he's gotta do."

Buffy was suddenly tossed onto the bed without warning, and had to clutch desperately to the covers when she nearly bounced completely off of the mattress. "Dean! I'm serious. You're ruining everything! I look terrible!"

"Shut up. You look beautiful as always. You're hot as hell and I'm going to strip you down and screw your cute little brains out… and there's not a thing you can do it about. You're all mine tonight," he promised with a grin. He looked way too happy with himself, and she was pretty sure he was setting some sort of speed record for getting undressed while doing it.

"Or I could break all your bones… very slowly," she reminded him with a smirk. "How does that sound?"

Buffy almost got bounced off the bed again when he dove in beside her, but he grabbed her and yanked her under him before she ended up in the floor. He knelt over her, holding her hips between his knees and her hands over her head. "Whatever gets you off," he replied with a grin. "I'm sure you can break my bones. But the thing is, I'm pretty damn sure I'm horny enough to have super strength right now myself. Trust me, I could kill something with the power of this boner alone. So, you're staying in this bed 'till I pass out or die," he added smugly. "You've got some hope, there's always a chance I might give myself a heart attack."

It was hard for Buffy to resist the happy, open smile on his face, even if he was messing with her fantasy of the perfect night. For a while, she wasn't sure if she'd ever see this side of him again, because the nightmares of hell had been so intense when she'd first gotten him back. But, even though she knew he was still having a few - and probably always would - he looked happier right now than she'd ever seen him. So, resisting him was futile.

"You're not playing fair," she gasped as he began kissing and nibbling her from the tips of her fingers down to her shoulders and throat.

"Well, yeah. What did you expect?" He let go of one of her wrists and quickly untied her bathrobe, and pulled the sash from its loops. "Did that perfect fantasy night of yours include getting tied up?" he asked, teasing her by holding the sash up in front of her face. "Maybe you wanted me to spank you before I fucked you really hard?"

"Maybe," she agreed breathlessly.

"Yeah, well tough. I'm a desperate man with simple needs, and I _need_ to get laid. You've been cock teasing me for weeks."

"I have not!" Buffy denied, but she gasped as his fingers found her wet folds and he began swirling his tongue around one of her nipples. "You were sick," she mumbled distractedly.

"Guess you didn't have Marvin Gaye in your world. Sexual Healing, baby," he told her as he raised his head and very deliberately rubbed her clit with just enough pressure to tease her. "You might've gotten what you wanted if you'd given me a taste of that pussy when I needed it. But you just let me lay there and suffer. It was damn tragedy."

Buffy rolled her eyes. "You were mostly unconscious."

"Yeah and you missed a perfect chance to molest me," he winked. "Now I'll just have to fuck you 'till you go blind."

"Dean," she pleaded as she tried to rock her hips against his hand. He had her pinned down by his weight and she could barely move a muscle underneath him. It was a safe, warm feeling though. Always had been, and what was even better was that, this time, she didn't have any doubts she was loved. But, loved or not, he was still being merciless with the build-up. The frustration was absolutely killing her. She felt like she was going to explode. _"Please," _she pleaded. "Please Dean, I need…"

"You need what?" he asked as he slowly slid his cock inside her. He was even harder than he usually was, something Buffy didn't think was possible. She cried out when he pressed himself in as far as he could go and then quickly pulled back and hit her with one powerful thrust. "How about that?" he asked smugly. "That feel good?"

"Uh huh," she managed to mutter.

"Good, glad you like. 'Cause you're about to take a lot of it," he promised her in a deep gravelly voice, speaking very close to her ear.

Buffy shivered at the low timbre of his voice and the feel of his stubble tickling the sensitive skin below her ear. She wrapped her arms around him tightly and lay back, letting herself get lost in the increasingly powerful thrusts he kept delivering. With the way he was pounding into her, she couldn't think about anything else even if she wanted to. She'd be surprised if he didn't break the bed. Every few strokes, he would swivel his hips and grind into her clit, but he was only doing it just often enough to keep her on edge. As always, he knew exactly where that magic line lay, and he was deliberately getting her as close to it as he could without pushing her over. It was driving her crazy, making her moan and whimper and beg - much to the joy of his ego. She really didn't think she could take it anymore. Then her passion-scrambled brain finally remembered that she was perfectly capable of turning the tables on him, and taking what she so desperately needed.

She gripped his hips tightly between her thighs and rolled them, making sure to keep him buried deep inside of her. The look of shock on his features when he realized she was now on top, quickly dissolved into a passionate leer.

"Hell yeah, baby. Tear it up! Show me what you got."

Buffy took him up on the challenge and let herself go wild on top of him, however, he already had her so wound-up that it wasn't long until she felt the first spasms of her orgasm beginning to overtake her. He groaned her name a bit urgently, but she was too lost in her pleasure to register it. His body went stiff and his hands bit into her hips hard enough to leave prints, not that she was feeling any pain at the moment. She opened her eyes to look at him and he was gritting his teeth as he spilled himself into her. She watched, just happy that she could give him such pleasure. Any thoughts of consequences were very far away. Finally, he opened his eyes halfway and loosened his grip on her.

"I should probably be freakin' the hell out right now, but _damn_," he said breathlessly. "That was the height of awesome."

Buffy crinkled her nose and shrugged a little. "Sorry?"

This time, Buffy found that she was the one being flipped, leaving Dean on top and still inside of her. He smoothed her hair back and kissed her deeply before saying, "Don't be sorry. I love you and we'll deal with whatever. Don't get me wrong… I'm not sayin' the idea of kids doesn't scare the living shit out of me, but I'd still be proud as hell to be their father. They'd be damn good looking too."

Buffy was a little shocked. She knew Dean was terrified of opening his heart to something he could lose. "I can't believe you're being so cool about this," she said. "You really are mellowing out."

Dean grinned at her and shook his head. "Doubt that. I just don't have enough blood in my brain right now to think straight. It all moved south," he said as he started kissing her again. After a long minute, he pulled back to look at her. "Thank you," he said in a serious tone. "Thanks for saving me. I owe you my life, and I wanted to make sure you knew that. I didn't think it was possible for anyone to save me."

Buffy gazed at up at him, just soaking in the warmth in his eyes. "Wow, feeling kinda underestimated here," she frowned, pretending to be insulted. "I can't believe you're so surprised I could take out a few tweedy guys trying to stage a bad western."

"I didn't mean that," Dean said with a half-smile and shake of his head. "You saved me way before that. You brought me back to life, and because of that, I honestly could've swung from that rope a happy man."

Buffy just stared in wonder and listened, afraid to speak for fear of breaking the moment. This was the most open he'd ever been with her.

"When I met you, I was running on fumes," he added. "I'd gone way past the point of even caring anymore. I was done. Dead inside. Just a shell. I wanted something to rip me open. It was only a matter of time."

"Me too," Buffy whispered as she stroked his cheek. "So, I guess you could say we saved each other." She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled him down close to her, just wanting to savor the closeness. The steady beat of his heart against her breasts relaxed her and lulled her into an almost hypnotic state.

"Hey," Dean said as he rocked his hips forward, exciting her still sensitized nerves. Once again, he was rock hard inside of her. "No sleeping. I told you, you're all mine tonight."

Buffy answered him by moving her own hips in response before promising him softly, "I'm all yours, always."


End file.
